


The Guest

by BummedOutWriter



Series: The Guest [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Auror Harry Potter, Boggarts, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Chudley Cannons, Family, Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Potions Accident, Prophecy, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Seer Draco Malfoy, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Time Travel, Truth Serum, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 59,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedOutWriter/pseuds/BummedOutWriter
Summary: In consequence of an accidental spell, Harry and Draco's five-year-old daughter is sent ten years into the past, where she meets her teenaged parents. Awkwardness ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Gość](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988101) by [Glenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenka/pseuds/Glenka)



When his hand closed around the snitch, he was so close to the ground that he had to roll off his broom to avoid full-on collision. Draco lifted the golden ball into the air, the crowd erupting in cheers as he did. The crumpled wings twitched relentless as cameras flashed from every direction, nearly blinding him as he laid there in the beginnings of dusk. He climbed to his feet, and despite maintaining an evenly smug demeanor, Draco felt so high he could have sworn he had not landed.

Then questions rang out, sobering him somewhat as reporters clamored against the barricades framing the field.

"Where is your husband? Why has he skipped out on yet another match?"

"Are the divorce rumors accurate?"

"Draco! Draco, over here!"

"Is it true that you and your husband are planning for another child?"

There were several whistles of air followed by the thumps of his teammates touching down on the earth behind him. Before they could catch up, Draco jogged off to the lockers, not too keen to endure the asinine questions in their presence—or at all. Once inside, he leaned on a wall, his head buzzing, and his pupils blown. He never grew weary of the rush of winning a game. Even the rumors couldn't snuff it out.

Draco allowed himself a genuine smile. He had done it—he had finally won a championship.

There was a sharp crack and Draco looked up to watch a grinning figure pull down the hood of an Auror cloak. A twenty-six-year-old brunette ran his fingers through his eternally-messy hair. "What a way to end the season," Harry laughed.

Draco tempered himself before he coolly inquired, "You were watching?"

"I snuck out of work early," admitted Harry ruefully. "I only caught the last few minutes, but _Merlin_ , you were-"

Draco kissed him, gripping his shirt as he shoved Harry into the opposite wall. They melted into each other, hands roaming, until Harry began to chuckle into the contact.

Draco pulled back, washed with embarrassment. He tried to get a hold of himself as he looked down.

Harry's smile was bashful now. "Sorry, I just...love seeing you like this."

Draco nodded.

"And I...er...have to pick up Molly," he added apologetically.

"That's fine. I'll see you at home."

Harry flashed one more grin—no, more like a lecherous sneer, his eyes filling with a wickedness that made Draco's dick twitch.

"I'll see you at home," Harry echoed apathetically. Draco swallowed.

In the same moment Harry disapparated, the locker room doors flung open and the remainder of the Chudley Cannons flooded in. Draco found himself squashed in a collective embrace.

"Good game, Draco."

"Amazing catch!"

As he was released, he clasped onto what was left of his composure- "Thanks." -and hastily began to change his clothes.

"What's up with these rumors, Draco?" said the team captain, Peterson, plopping down on a bench as the others went to their lockers.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. "Hazard of marrying the Chosen One," he snarked.

"They seem worse than ever."

"Slow news week."

"You know you can tell me anything," said Peterson, his eyes more inquisitive than concerned. "Like if you and Harry are having issues-"

"We're not."

"-talking about divorce-"

"No."

"-thinking about having another child-"

"It amazes me how contradictory those things are. In fact, the exact opposites. Yet people still feel inclined to ask them in sequence. Do you also want to inquire about the supposed bite marks and bruising Harry regularly suffers from our excessively rough sex?"

Peterson winced. "Not particularly."

"I appreciate your concern." Draco did not appreciate it, and it was _not_ concern. "But kindly direct it elsewhere."

"Right, got it," said Peterson. Holding his arms up in surrender, he stood and backed away.

"Draco," said Trin, the new team Keeper, as she approached. "We're going to Glenda's to celebrate. You should come out."

"I can't. I promised Molly-" Draco in fact had not promised Molly a damn thing, but he found the three-word combination to be an effective excuse for most everything.

"Of course," said Trin understandingly. Her eyes sparkled. "You should celebrate with your family anyway."

"I should," Draco concurred as he zipped his duffle bag closed. Giving his teammates a final nod, he lifted his wand and disapparated.

He reappeared in the threshold of the house he owned with Harry. Lowering his bag to the floor, he walked into the dining room, where a blonde five-year-old was gawking at the front page of a newspaper. Draco approached and reached down to remove the Daily Prophet from Molly's grasp—he and Harry preferred that she wasn't exposed to the potentially negative imagery—however Draco paused at seeing the front page. It was the evening edition and Molly was ogling a picture of Draco catching the snitch just before sprawling onto the grass, his eyes bright with awe. The headline read, _Chudley Cannons Win The League Cup For The First Time In Decades!_ The photographer had captured the moment perfectly.

Unable to contain a smirk, Draco withdrew his hand. "Molly," he greeted.

The child abruptly looked up, her long hair dancing around her elbows. She beamed at him, looking enamored, but then she paused and controlled her expression. "Hello father," she said politely. There were stars in her emerald eyes.

"Draco, is that you?" Harry stepped into the doorway that led to the kitchen. He was looking festive in the pink apron that made Draco's cheek twitch.

Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived. Champion of the Wizarding World. Defeater of the Dark Lord. Savior of Them All.

Wearing a bright pink apron and an amorous grin. "Dinner in an hour," said Harry. "Dessert at ten," he added with a wink.

Ten was past Molly's bed time and she seemed to register the schedule conflict. A scowl formed on her face.

Draco could not help smiling at Harry's ridiculousness as the brunette turned and returned to the stove. The grueling Quidditch season was over, and the two were planning to make up for lost time. Draco leaned down and pressed a kiss to Molly's head. "I'll be downstairs," he muttered, and walked off to the living room. There was a stairwell leading into the basement, where Draco descended into his small potions lab.

It wasn't much, but potions was purely a hobby for the time being. Draco supposed he could fall back on it when he could not do Quidditch. His last hiatus had been difficult. Draco would have gone insane had it not been for the lab.

He sat down at his table, where he looked down at a potion he had started a week ago. It was a permanent fix for joint soreness, and he had decided to give it a try for his catching arm. Draco removed the potion from magical stasis, and adjusted the fire just slightly. As he proceeded with the memorized steps, he became so immersed in his task, he did not realize that he had forgotten to lock the lab. After an hour of scrupulous brewing, he heard the door creek, and light footsteps on the stairs.

"Father. It's time for dinner."

Draco's face darkened with irritation. "Molly, you know you're not supposed to-"

There was a yelp, and Draco heard Molly stumble on the stairs. Draco instinctively jerked his arms up to levitate the child with wandless magic. With the abrupt movement, he had unintentionally knocked a jar of doxies into his potion, and now a purplish fog was pouring into the room. With a sigh, Draco stood, never lowering his arms. He walked up the stairs, intending to reorient his daughter, but then he looked about in surprise.

She was gone.

*

Ten years earlier, a sixteen-year-old Harry Potter paused mid-step on his way outside the castle.

"You okay, mate?" said Ron. "Did you forget something?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Harry?"

"It's just..." Harry felt odd. Not physically, but—anxious-like. Like he was supposed to be somewhere else. "I have to go." He turned and took to a run, heading straight for the path to Hogsmeade.

"Harry!"

Harry could hear Ron and Hermione taking chase, but he didn't slow down. He felt as though he was late to something. Like he had to get there as quickly as possible, or something would go terribly wrong. He dumped his backpack as he continued at break-neck speed, pushing first-years and the occasional professor out of his path. He knew this was a hex and he should have probably been fighting it. But nothing could pull Harry's attention away from whatever—whomever—laid at his destination.

He scooped her up in a tight embrace, confused as to why he was on his knees with someone's kid in his arms. But the embrace was reciprocated, and emerald eyes peeked up into his identical ones. "Dad?" said the child.

At his flanks, Ron and Hermione caught up, both gasping for breath.

"Who are you?" Harry inquired, lowering the girl. He looked down at her windblown blonde hair. She couldn't have been over five.

"It's me." The child frowned. "Molly." She seemed offended.

Several minutes later brought the quartet to Dumbledore's office, all parties giving the headmaster their rapt attention.

"It's a spell," Dumbledore confirmed. "Though not a malicious one. It's fairly common amongst parents with small children. It creates familial bonds with different parties. In this case Harry, you developed a compulsion to find her when you sensed that she was somewhere that she should not have been." Dumbledore lifted his wand, waving it over the blonde-haired child seated in Harry's lap. "It seems that she has more than one bond. The compulsion will defer to her closest bond-mate whenever she is in trouble."

"But it doesn't make sense," said Harry. "Why is she bonded to me? And why does she..." He trailed off as Molly looked up and he was again enamored by her eyes.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" said Molly, snapping Harry out of his reverie. "Are you upset with me?"

Harry lightly shook himself. "No, sweetie, it's just..." It was only then that Harry noticed that Molly had a newspaper clasped against her chest. "Can I see that?"

Molly shook her head in refusal.

"Why not?"

"No, dad, it's mine!" Harry caught her arm as she tried to flee. He threw a helpless look at his friends. Ron seemed vaguely amused while Hermione raised her brows.

"Molly, perhaps we can reach an agreement," said Dumbledore, pushing his spectacles farther up his crooked nose. "Would you allow me to see the paper, granted I promise to give it back?"

Molly hesitated, then hopped down from Harry's lap. She walked over to Dumbledore and handed the paper over, fidgeting shyly as the headmaster perused it.

"Oh my," said Dumbledore as he lowered the paper to his desk.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione leaned forward.

"It's the prophet," said Ron, scanning the cover.

The cover image displayed a familiar blonde-haired young man, sprawled on the grass, his chest heaving, and a snitch clutched in his hand. He looked unfamiliarly elated and gloriously disheveled, his hair inches longer than Harry could recall ever seeing it, and the wind whipping his orange robes against his slim, lean frame.

Draco looked older by a few years, his face less angular and subtle shadows beneath his gray eyes. He looked weary, relieved, and distressingly...handsome. Harry brushed the stray thought from his mind.

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione murmured in amazement.

"Chudley Cannons!" said Ron, appalled.

Molly crossed her arms, looking smug.

"Observe the date," said Dumbledore.

Harry did so. _2006_ , he mused, then blinked. "2006!?" He said in alarm.

Dumbledore nodded. "As I suspected. This paper is from the future. As is Molly. Harry, she in fact is your..."

The headmaster's words faded out as Harry's mind spun. 2006 was ten years from now. In ten years, he'd have…Molly.

Harry's eyes swung back to the girl in question. She was cute and sweet, and he already kind of adored her. "You're my daughter," he stated blankly.

Molly looked hurt. "Of course I am."

Harry flushed, feeling unsteady. Ron and Hermione appeared equally stunned. Harry thought about the additional familial bonds Dumbledore had mentioned, and asked, "Who is your mother?"

"Harry," Dumbledore warned.

Harry nodded. The future was erratic. The less he knew, the safer things would be in the long run. Despite it, he couldn't help pressing for information. "C-can I see the paper?"

Dumbledore smiled in sympathy. "I'm sorry Harry, but that would not be wise. Your limited knowledge should be celebrated, not mourned," he added at seeing Harry's disheartened expression. "Am I mistaken in understanding that having a family is one of your greatest desires?"

Harry managed a nod. "It is."

Dumbledore rolled up the paper, and Harry resented the fact that all he'd managed to absorb from it was a glimpse of Malfoy's illustrious future as a professional Quidditch player. He looked at Ron, who grinned and shrugged.

Dumbledore tucked the paper into his robes. "I'll be holding onto this for the time being, at least until-"

"IT'S MINE!" Molly snarled.

Molly launched herself at the headmaster in a scuffle of scratching, biting, and pulling at his beard. Dumbledore's spectacles crashed to the floor where they shattered, and the man was so nonplussed, he nearly toppled with them.

A gawking Ron snapped out of his shock and hurried over, attempting to detach the child from the centenarian.

"Harry, do something!" cried Hermione.

But Harry could only stare, his mouth hanging ajar.

"Molly, my child," Dumbledore pleaded. "You can have the paper. It is yours."

Instantly, Molly relaxed. She huffed for a moment then relinquished her attempts to claw out Dumbledore's retinas. "You promise?"

"Indeed, my child."

Molly nodded and finally allowed Ron to pull her away. The redhead propped her on his hip as he scrutinized his mother's namesake. "You sure are spoiled."

Harry blushed.

"You need to work on your parenting skills, mate," Ron added to Harry.

"I didn't...erm...right," said Harry, reddening more.

With a muttered _reparo_ , Dumbledore fixed his glasses. Sighing, he replaced them on his nose. "My deepest apologies, Molly. I should not have taken your paper. It is obviously very important to you."

Molly nodded imperiously as Dumbledore removed the newspaper from his robe.

"All that I ask is that you don't allow anyone else to see it."

But Molly was ignoring him now, as she unraveled the paper. And to Harry's shock, she was happily gazing at the image of Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron was wearing a half-sneer, half-grin, seeming conflicted between his elation that the Chudley Cannons would finally win a League Cup and his disgust that Draco Malfoy was the one who would take them there.

"Any idea on the mother?" Hermione asked while continuing her staring contest with Molly. They were lounging on the grass by the lake.

"Who has hair _that_ blonde?" said Ron.

"Lavender?"

Ron winced. "She's not a natural—"

"Did it work?" Harry cut them off, nearly falling on his face as he dismounted his broom.

Hermione frowned as Harry wildly looked about.

Apparently it hadn't.

"I went all the way up to the astronomy tower this time," said Harry. He was on his third effort to lure his future wife, via the bond to Molly. "D'you think I didn't go far enough? Maybe I can fly above the forest and—"

"Maybe she doesn't go to Hogwarts," said Ron. As Harry deflated, Ron added, "Plenty of fit birds over at Durmstrang."

Hermione elbowed Ron roughly. "There is another possible issue, Harry. Dumbledore said that Molly has _multiple_ familial bonds. Don't you think Ron and I might qualify?"

Harry's face brightened. "You're right!"

Molly was gazing at each teenager in tandem, a dubious look on her face.

"We'll all get brooms then, and let Molly wait here," Harry concluded.

"Mate..."

"You're suggesting we just abandon her!?" Hermione admonished, causing Harry to cringe at her tone.

Now Molly was looking at them all in alarm.

"Just for a minute..." said Harry guiltily.

"So you can lure out _some girl?_ "

"'Mione, you're making me sound like a creep…."

"I reckon you _are_ a creep," Ron snickered.

"Harry, this has gone on long enough. I will have no part of it anymore. You need to stop obsessing with this future-wife of yours. Why don't you get to know your daughter—for goodness sake, she's _right here!_ "

There was a pause, and no one admitted what they were all thinking: Harry Potter was terrified of a five-year-old.

"She's right, mate," said Ron. "You're being a bit of a prat."

"Yeah...I know," Harry grumbled. "I know. It's just—"

"Father!" Molly cried out.

Harry turned to Molly, but to his surprise, she was not talking to him. She ran off, and practically flew into a small group of Slytherins. More specifically, she leapt into Draco Malfoy's arms.

The surprised teenager caught Molly as she beamed at up him, and it was only then that Harry realized the uncanny resemblance between the two.

"I missed you, father." Molly tucked her head under Malfoy's chin. "Daddy's being mean."

Ron and Hermione climbed up to join Harry in gawking, the brunette in question fearing that he was going mad. "But I thought...I was..."

Ron covered his face with his hand. "Oh no," he moaned.

"Doesn't make sense..." said Harry vacantly.

"Harry…" said Hermione gently.

"Why is she calling Malfoy—"

"Harry."

Harry turned to Hermione.

"Molly's calling _Malfoy_ father because he appears to be...her father. Powerful Wizards can...carry children, Harry. Which means in a few years from now..."

Draco Malfoy was going to knock him up.

*

Harry was out of it. He only vaguely recalled being led inside. "Has to be...some sort of mistake..."

"It would appear that it isn't," said Dumbledore, looking only mildly concerned. He waved his wand as he observed his guests, his eyes trailing over invisible connections. Dumbledore's Molly-induced cuts and scratches were mysteriously gone, and he was contently sucking on a lemon drop, though, Harry noted, Dumbledore had not offered one to any of them. "Molly has a strong bond to Mr. Malfoy."

Like Harry, Malfoy was blank-faced and looking slightly green.

"Father what's wrong?" Molly asked, tugging his robes.

Malfoy looked down, and to Harry's surprise, offered the child a controlled smile. "Nothing...Molly? I'm fine."

Harry rolled his eyes at the scene. So Molly favored Malfoy. _Lovely_ , he thought sardonically. "I still think it's a mistake," Harry deadpanned, now bitter rather than stunned.

Harry was left ignored as Malfoy drew back Molly's long, tangled hair, exposing her features for his perusal. He seemed perplexed, but not displeased. His eyes trailed over her pointed Malfoy-nose.

"I was looking for you, father. Daddy's gone mad. He was talking about _abandoning_ me."

"I WAS NOT!" Harry leapt to his feet. At the stares he nervously sat back down. Now everyone was looking at him as though he _really was_ mad.

Malfoy seemed vaguely amused. Harry had never seen the blonde looking so tender. "You know that neither of us would ever do that."

Harry was shocked by the subtle show of solidarity. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

Molly gave a wicked smile to match Malfoy's. "I know."

Malfoy's eyes lifted to Dumbledore. "So what's the plan? How do we send her home and...not think about this?" his voice trailed into an uncharacteristic mumble, and he was making a point of not looking at Harry.

"It may be out of our hands," the headmaster responded. "Whatever caused this to occur did not happen on our end. And I am not familiar with any spells that could resolve this. It seems we must wait and depend on your future selves to—take her back—so to speak. It could take days, maybe weeks. But for the time being, I am not inclined to intervene."

*

"Draco...?" said Blaise, as he and Pansy approached where he sat on a common room couch.

"Who's your girlfriend?" Pansy snickered.

"Future daughter," stated Draco flatly. He nonchalantly turned another page of his textbook, not looking up. Molly was seated beside him, leaning on his side. She hovered over the pages, squinting at the text, and every so often Draco had to brush her permanently-disheveled blonde hair out of the way.

"Have you thought of a haircut?" he muttered irritably.

"It doesn't work," said Molly dismissively.

"Hm..." Draco turned another page. She must have gotten that from Potter. He glanced up to see Blaise and Pansy gaping at him. "Yes?" He closed his book.

"Future _daughter_?" said Blaise, his eyes roving over the child. He could not deny the resemblance.

"How? And _who_?" Pansy wanted to know.

Draco grinded his teeth. "This is Molly. Apparently she's my daughter from the future. Me and...er..." They were going to find out eventually. He might as well just spit it out.

"Potter?" said Pansy as she caught sight of Molly's distinctive eyes.

"Huh?" said Molly.

"Say you're kidding? Really? _Potter!_ "

"What, what?" Molly asked.

There was a pause. Draco's cheeks colored as the trio registered what was going on.

"Potter," Pancy experimented. "Molly Potter."

"What!?" Molly was exasperated.

Pansy swiftly turned back to Draco. "You took his last name?"

Blaise burst into laughter.

"Shut up," Draco snapped. "Obviously not. No one said we were _married_. Clearly we just had an inebriated one-off at some point. Undoubtedly Potter won custody. He's the _mother_ after all," Draco smirked, covertly regretful to be calling his daughter a bastard.

"That's _quite_ a conclusion you've formed."

"Deductive reasoning, Zabini."

The crowd surrounding Draco was steadily growing. He shifted uncomfortably but remained aloof.

"What do you have there?" Pansy kneeled down, again addressing the child.

"Oh, aunt Pansy...it's just..." Molly hesitated, then revealed the newspaper she had been clutching against her dress. Surprised gasps rang throughout the group of Slytherins.

Draco blinked. "I become a professional Quidditch player?" He flinched at the bright orange uniform.

"And sexy as _fuck_." Pansy's mouth hung open.

"The Chudley Cannons?" Bullstrode snickered.

"Wait—it looks like they won the League Cup!" said Crabbe in astonishment.

"Hey, let me see that!" another Slytherin piped in.

But Molly pulled the rumpled paper to her torso, and resisted all attempts there were to extricate it from her hands. At Draco's silent warning, no one touched her.

"It's father..." Molly murmured as she gazed at the image with pride. Then she lifted her eyes and looked suspiciously at Draco, as though she suspected he was an imposter.

Draco could hardly contain the smugness creeping up to his face. His future didn't look bad at all. Sure, the Chudley Cannons wouldn't have been his ideal choice for a professional team, but it seemed their scores had picked up in the future. And indeed, shagging Potter was an absolute atrocity in itself, but at least something good had come of it. He appraised his slightly-rumpled daughter. Though not the picture of Malfoy poise and elegance, he supposed she was a work in progress. And Molly seemed to adore him—or at least his future self. He wondered if future-Potter kept them apart. He wouldn't put it past the arrogant git.

"Can I see it—for just a second, Molly?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Draco tried to tug the paper free from her arms, but it seemed magically adhered in Molly's tight grip.

*

People seemed fond of Molly for her cuteness. They trailed after her, cooing, and promising her gifts. It was how Draco came to be flanked by an unnecessarily large entourage that evening. It was so distracting, Draco hardly noticed when Molly wandered off.

"Uncle Ron, Uncle Ron!" said Molly, tugging at Weasley's robes.

Draco's formation of Slytherins came to a halt as they faced Boys Wonder's Trio of Incompetence.

"If it isn't Potter," Draco sneered, finally having the stomach to meet Potter's eyes.

"Wotcher, Malfoy," responded Potter icily. He lifted Molly up on his nonexistent hip.

"I'm surprised you would show your face outside of your common room. Especially given the _circumstances._ "

"What circumstances would those be, _mate?_ "

"Not to be crude...but you being my bottom."

Potter's jaw dropped. Granger reddened and covered Molly's ears.

"I had no idea how eager you were to bend down to my whims, Potter. All these squabbles, and just sexual tension on _your_ end." Draco continued to assault Potter with his repertoire of bad puns.

Draco's Slytherin entourage had burst into giggles. Pansy was hunched over, clutching her side.

"You just wanted to _submit_ to me, didn't you, Potter? Merlin, you _tosser_."

Potter just got redder and redder. "I...er..." He glanced away, but there was no escaping his humiliation. The crowd was growing. Draco decided to give them a show.

"Up the duff by twenty-one. How truly pathetic."

Potter was trembling now.

"Couldn't wait for it, could you, _Potter_? Got me good and drunk, didn't you!?" Draco now took on an accusatory tone.

It seemed Potter could take no more of the verbal lashing. He turned and stormed off into the Great Hall with Molly in tow. Weasley and Granger momentarily gaped, then hurried after Potter. The surrounding Slytherins continued to cackle.

In the midst of the spectacle, Molly had not even noticed that she had been parted from her Daily Prophet. Draco ducked off with the paper stuffed under his arm. He found an empty corridor, tucked himself behind a suit of armor, and began to eagerly flip through the pages, his hands shaking in anticipation. Aside from the Quidditch story, he didn't expect to see much about him, but it would still be nice to get a heads up on what was to occur in the coming years.

**10 Year Anniversary of the Defeat of the Dark Lord.**

Draco was stunned by this headline. Before he could read through the article however, his attention was pulled to the opposite page.

**Harry Potter Spotted At League Cup Final!**

It was a decidedly shorter article, and was accompanied by a small image of Potter, only this Potter was somewhat...different from the sixteen-year-old version. _How pathetic,_ thought Draco as his eyes roved over the image. _Probably hung up on me, probably stalking..._ Adult-Potter did not wear glasses, his deep green eyes on display as they narrowed at the sky, watching the tiny figures on broomsticks in the distance, a solemn look on his face. Adult-Potter's Auror cloak hung open as it flapped about his shoulders. His hair looked less of a mess than incidentally disheveled. His jaw was stronger, his face more rugged, and he looked more powerful as a whole, gently muscled, and perhaps a little bit taller. Draco did not notice that he was gawking at the image. _Merlin, future-Potter was—_

Draco was again distracted by yet another headline—more like a small blurb attached to the previous one.

**Draco Potter Pregnant?**

Draco blanched.

_Are the Potters expecting baby number two? Those closest to the couple weigh in._

_"It would be a darn shame if you ask me. I'm not sure what the team will do without him," states an anonymous source close to the Chudley Cannons. "Draco is a top pick for the England team at the World Cup next year. But he's been keeping his schedule awfully mild for the summer. Hasn't even hired a trainer. He clearly has no intention to play when the new season starts."_

_"Well they get along well enough," says Diane Fletcher, Draco's cousin's dog groomer. "And they seem awfully cozy lately, if I do say so myself. Harry even managed to show up for the game! In my opinion, the divorce rumors are rubbish. They both have busy schedules, but if you saw the way the two look at each other when they're together, you would never dream of such a thing."_

_"If he is, it's irresponsible that he's still flying," states Sora Seddwick, Draco's biggest fan. "I swear, at one point during the match he looked like he'd fall off his broom. Then his flip during the third hour when he barely avoided that bludger? And Merlin, the landing. He's being reckless. If I was Harry, I would never let him out of the house!"_

_"Oh yes, Draco's awfully pale, isn't he? And certainly acting nervous lately," states Norman Motts, a frequent customer at Harry's favorite restaurant. "I certainly hope so. Harry deserves it. I wish them both the best, and a healthy baby as well."_

The paper crumpled as Draco's fists clenched. He swallowed down the bit of bile that had risen up his throat. What he had read would imply that he had...carried her. He had carried Molly. Draco paled yet more.

"Malfoy."

Draco quickly stuffed the Prophet into his robes. He looked up at Potter, who was eying him suspiciously.

"Back for seconds, Potter?" Draco drawled.

"No, it's just...I didn't see you at dinner."

Draco's stomach lurched. After the mortification Potter had just endured, how could he still face Draco, let alone express concern? It was as though he had just brushed the insults off as inconsequential.

Potter looked down nervously from Draco's stare. "I also wanted to ask...is it okay if Molly spends the night at Gryffindor tower? I'd like to show her around. Plus she's really taken a liking of Ron."

It was only then that Draco noticed the people standing a bit away from him and Potter. Molly was giggling unendingly as Weasley leaned down making ridiculous faces at her. Granger was observing, an amused smile on her visage.

Draco sneered at the scene. "She's fond of Weasley," he repeated monotonously. That was something he would have to work to amend.

Potter frowned. "Well it's not surprising. She _is_ named after his mum."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"So what do you say?" said Harry.

Draco felt as though his throat was closing up. Potter had _married_ him, _forced_ him to take his ridiculous surname, gotten him _pregnant_ , then to top things off, had named their daughter after _Weasley's mother!?_

From behind Potter's shoulder, Granger was looking at Draco in concern. Draco could feel his skin growing redder and redder.

He launched himself at Potter, slamming the other teen to the ground. Soon they were struggling against the marble, both trying to get the upper hand.

"Father and daddy are fighting!" Molly lightly clapped as though she was watching her favorite spectacle.

"I'm going to kill you," Draco promised, now attempting to strangle the brunette. But before he could fully crush Potter's windpipe, several hands grabbed hold of him, and he and Potter were pulled apart.


	3. Chapter 3

At twenty-six, Draco was as slim and elegant as ever in his fitted black robes. His sleeked back blonde hair was beginning to curl up behind his ears, a few stray strands starting to fall in his eyes as the evening wore on. He looked wearied from his earlier Quidditch match, and his high from the win had decidedly plummeted with the disappearance of his daughter. The others hardly noticed how his composure was crumbling. But Harry did.

By habit, Draco's hand slid towards his pocket.

"No wand," Snape snapped from his portrait above the mantle.

Draco's indifferent expression contorted as he gave his godfather an icy glare. He looked like he might have blasted the portrait to pieces were there not others in the room to witness it.

"He's right..." started Harry.

"Try again," Snape cut him off.

Draco nodded and tried to relax. They were at Hogwarts, in the headmasters office, several people standing about the room. Of course McGonagall was there. Ron was present, if just for moral support. Hermione was there as well, for her pedantic expertise of all of everything. The minister had even shown up, then hurried off an hour later for an important meeting he had to attend.

In the larger of the two portraits, Dumbledore silently observed, his face somber, to Harry's unease. And beside Dumbledore, portrait-Snape's lip curled, as not for a minute would he neglect such a prime opportunity to remind his former students of how hapless they were.

Leaning against a wall, farthest from Draco, Harry stood with his arms crossed. He impatiently drummed his bicep with his fingers as he bit his lip and watched.

Draco took a breath and thrust out his hands. For a moment, the lights flickered, the windows trembled, and Fawkes awoke with a start.

But nothing more occurred. Harry continued to evenly breathe as Draco's shoulders slumped.

"Shit," Draco hissed out, raising his hands to hold either side of his head. "It's not working. Maybe—maybe the potion..."

"The potion is irrelevant," Snape snapped, though his sneer was gone. Perhaps even he was beginning to see how defeated Draco was. "We've already gone over it three times. It wasn't the potion. It was solely your magic that did this."

Draco practically cringed at the remark.

"You need to relax, Draco," said McGonagall gently. "You will not accomplish anything in your present state."

"Most cardinal, you need to return to the mindset you were in when Molly disappeared," said Dumbledore's portrait.

"I tried," said Draco. "It's not working. I can't replicate the spell. Merlin, what if-"

"You didn't kill her," Harry snapped.

"But I can't even feel the bond anymore," Draco managed, now beginning to tremble as he met Harry's eyes.

"Draco, we discussed this," said Dumbledore in sympathy. "It is nearly impossible to kill someone with wandless magic, let alone leaving no trace of it occurring. More likely, you sent her to another dimension, plane, or time—"

"Good as dead then," Draco bit out.

"Don't say that," shouted Harry, and everyone in the room could feel as the temperature dropped. Uncrossing his arms, Harry stepped forward. "You may have lost her, but you didn't kill her! So stop saying that!"

Both Harry and Draco abruptly gripped their wands, like duelers facing off. As they glared at each other, the air chilled more until Draco's shaking worstened, and Harry knew that it was his turn to calm down.

Harry felt a hand on his arm.

"It's late," said Hermione. "We're all exhausted. Let's break until morning. We _will_ figure this out."

The silence reigned for another tense moment but the room temperature returned to normal. As Draco pocketed his wand and left the office, Harry placed his face in his hands.

"Harry..." said Hermione, her hand still on his arm. Harry felt Ron take hold of his opposite shoulder.

"I'm fine," said Harry, running his hands down his face. "I need to...um...I should check on him." Harry forced a smile and exited as well, though he could still feel his friends' concerned expressions on his back.

Harry headed to the teacher quarters McGonagall had set them up in, though he was not certain of the point of breaking for the rest of the night. It was close to morning already as it was, and he didn't imagine he could get any sleep with Molly still gone.

But Draco needed rest. Especially if he was to replicate the spell he had used to vanish Molly. Harry slid his hand into his pocket and clasped the vial of sleeping draught Slughorn had given him earlier in the evening.

When Harry walked into the teacher quarters, he saw Draco slumped down at the desk, his face buried in his folded arms and all composure surrendered. Harry sat down on the bed.

"It's not bad," said Harry lightly, pressing his fingers into the mattress. "If we ever get old and decide to be teachers, we know it's not a bad set up."

Draco remained unmoving. Harry got up and laid his hand on the blonde's shoulder to lightly rub the crook of his neck. "Draco?"

But there was no response. With a sigh, Harry wrapped his arms about his husband, and half-dragged, half-carried Draco to the bed. Draco drew up his knees and stared off at the wall, his features remaining blank.

"Here." Harry offered Draco the sleeping draught, but Draco ignored it.

With a sigh, Harry placed the potion on the night table. He settled down beside Draco and pulled the blonde into his lap. He planted idle kisses from Draco's head to his shoulder. He then leaned down, kissing Draco lightly on the lips. With more urgency.

Harry's heart rose as Draco finally kissed him back, Harry's arms holding Draco tighter, as both indulged In the comfort of contact. Harry bowed his head and worshipped Draco's soft, smooth neck, nipping it lightly, because Draco was vulnerable to marks.

He didn't know whether they were doing this in anger or for escape, he just knew that the two were rapidly undressing each other, and now he had a bruising hold on Draco's hips.

When Harry met Draco's eyes, they were molten silver in lust and self-resentment.

"I love you," Harry murmured, kissing Draco's lips before he could protest.

Draco's hand slid up to grip Harry's hair.

Harry fumbled for his wand, then the room went dark.

*

Ten years earlier, two disheveled sixteen-year-olds were held apart despite their best efforts to tear into each other like cats in heat.

"Daddy and father got into a fight. And they didn't even start kissing afterwards!" Molly said excitedly.

As Draco and Harry reddened, Ron and Hermione looked shocked, and Pansy burst into laughter. The rest of the crowd was overcome in a frisson of excitement. Students tittered and Draco was suddenly nauseous.

"But—but where were the hexes?" Molly complained, tugging on Hermione's robes as the prefect in question continued to gawk.

"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco snarled as he was dragged off by Crabbe and Goyle before any teachers could descend of the scene.

Snapping out of his reverie, Ron gripped Harry's robes, and was aided by Seamus in dragging the livid Golden Boy away as well.

"Father said a bad word!" Molly hopped up and down. "Father said fu-"

Hermione covered Molly's mouth and carted her off.

*

"I heard they were having a feisty make-out session outside of The Great Hall."

"Yeah, Malfoy said he wanted to fuck Potter right in the corridor."

"No, it was a _break-up_. Malfoy didn't take it well."

"Haven't you heard, Malfoy's a veela, and Potter succumbed to his charm."

"No! Potter is pregnant. The blonde girl? Yeah, that's their future daughter. Amethyst Xanthia Dragonheart Potter-Malfoy."

The Golden Trio plus Molly ducked off into an empty classroom, the sounds of gossip cutting off as the door slammed firmly shut behind them. Hermione quickly placed a locking charm.

Harry grunted as Ron pushed him into a desk. He frowned at his friend as he rubbed his sore neck. "Look—I don't know what happened. We were talking about Molly's name and he went completely berserker."

"Why did you even approach him?" Ron asked as Hermione came to stand at his side, Molly attached to her robes.

Harry colored. "Um, just to—just to update him on Molly."

Ron and Hermione gave Harry wary looks.

"Let things cool down a bit, mate," said Ron. "I mean, it's Malfoy. He's a right prat. And he's clearly not interested."

"Well clearly he's _going_ to be," said Harry defiantly, regretting the words the moment they spilled out of his mouth. He felt his blush spread to his ears.

Hermione looked at him in amazement. "Harry, I had no idea you were gay." As she said this, she absently lifted Molly up in a desk and conjured a scroll and some crayons.

"Yeah well, neither did I," said Harry, feeling positively mortified. "I guess Molly's existence pretty much confirmed it. And now I feel—I feel really quite gay." Harry clamped his mouth shut, not certain as to why he was willingly spilling his secrets.

"Blimey! So you're just jumping in, mate," said Ron as he stared, making Harry want to fuse into his chair and cease to exist, if just for the moment. "What are you saying, Harry. You're not— _attracted_ to him?"

"He is quite fit, isn't he?" Hermione smiled encouragingly.

Ron's face darkened, and he gave Hermione a disturbed look.

"I don't know, Ron. It's confusing. Aren't I _supposed_ to be?" said Harry, his heart pounding. He made sure not to admit that there was something quite endearing about the way Malfoy had attempted to strangle the life out of him. "I never thought of him that way before. Though I've never felt anything but _comfortable_ around witches." Harry nodded to Hermione. "Even with Ginny. But Malfoy...he's a prat. And I...I can't stand him. Maybe I just like...the idea of a real family. I think I _really_ like it. And I like Molly."

The girl in question looked up and beamed to Harry's surprise. Before anyone could react, she hopped down from her seat and hurried over to him.

"You know that, don't you?" said Harry, as Molly climbed onto his lap. "Surely my future self tells you as much?"

Molly tilted her head and she wore a contemplative expression. With some uncertainty, she said, "You're a different daddy." Then she smiled.

Harry grinned back. "You're smart." They were really beginning to warm up to each other.

"Daddy, why are you wearing glasses?" Molly wanted to know.

"I...don't wear them in the future?" Harry lifted Molly and placed her on the desk top so that the two were eye to eye.

Molly shook her head, then reached out to remove the glasses from Harry's face. "Father says they make you look like a nerd."

Harry's cheek twitched. Another little blurb of the future. "So your father and I...say a lot of things to each other?" he asked carefully as he took the glasses back and replaced them on his face. _And kissing_ , Harry reminded himself with a gulp. He hadn't forgotten about Molly's earlier mention of kissing.

Molly nodded eagerly. "Father's right." She scrutinized him. "Daddy's a nerd!"

Harry refrained from banging his head on the table. "It's clear who your favorite parent is," he grumbled under his breath.

"Father," said Molly without hesitation

Ron and Hermione's jaws dropped. Harry sputtered.

"How could you—I mean, why? Is Mal-father, is he nicer than me?"

"Oh no, father's mean," said Molly grimly.

"Is he around more than I am?"

"Father is always busy." Molly frowned.

"Does he give you gifts?"

"Gifts are for the sedimental," Molly drawled coldly. She pulled a crayon out of her pocket and attempted to color the sleeve of Harry's robe.

Harry plucked his arm away. "What is it, then?"

"Um...I don't know." Molly shrugged, and she began to color the desk top.

Feeling appalled, Harry sent a look to Ron and Hermione. Both looked equally astonished, and returned Harry's look with helpless shrugs, as if to say, _We don't get it either._

*

Seated in the Slytherin common room, Draco stared off, his features apathetic. Molly's appearance in the time had triggered some logical (if inaccurate) presumptions about the nature of his and Potter's future relationship.

All this time he had assumed that he'd just hit it and quit it.

But no, he had apparently _stayed_ with it, _married_ it, _taken_ its last name, and had a fucking _baby_ with it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"You okay, Malfoy?" Nott sneered.

"Fine," Draco snapped. Shutting the Transfiguration textbook in his lap, he stood and went to his dorm. He'd had enough with the sniggers and stares. He would have thought his housemates were beyond the asinine behavior, but apparently he had been mistaken.

Once in his dorm room, Draco dropped to his bed and pulled the crumpled Daily Prophet out of his robes. He took a deep breath and smoothed it out against his thigh, while reminding himself that most of the content tended to be refutable garbage, most of which could be disproven by even the most garish and inebriated of Weasleys. With that small comfort, Draco forced himself to open the paper. He tried not to go too much in depth, but glimpsed phrases in various articles.

_Auror Potter recovers from injuries acquired during latest mission..._

So Potter was an Auror in the future. It made sense. Draco had a fleeting memory of the picture of future-Potter, with his narrowed eyes and his sharp jaw line. Draco quickly brushed the thought aside.

 _Those remembered from the second wizarding war..._ At the sight of _Vincent Crabbe_ on the _In Memoriam_ list, Draco's eyes snapped up to see that his two cron-- _best friends_ had entered the room and were getting ready for bed. Malfoy briefly tried to distinguish them, tried to figure out which of them he would have to mourn, but soon realized his efforts were futile, and so he gave up.

In ten years, Potter would be alive and the war would be over. Potter was going to defeat The Dark Lord.

Draco trained his face to absolute indifference, and he was unwilling to even try to sort the myriad of feelings this stirred in his head.

_Harry Potter spotted with suspicious bruising on his neck. Hastily claims it to be the result of another altercation with a dark wizard—_

No, _nope_. Draco would not read into that. He quickly flipped the page while shuddering to himself. Draco glanced up to see that now Blaise and Nott had entered the room. Draco pulled his curtains around his bed, wary of his dorm-mates' nosiness.

_Granger-Weasley in the lead for Minister of Magic..._

Draco wrinkled his nose at this. It was like the future was all of his worst nightmares coming true. To think that his children might have to grow up in a world where that know-it-all mutant was in charge.

_Search for Draco Potter's Baby Bump_

Draco gagged. Images of his future-self littered a page, doing typical things like stepping out of Gringotts or walking a...cat? At times, Molly would be pouting beside him. At others, there was a flash of black hair, or Auror robes. In one, a disembodied arm showed at the edge of the picture, in a muggle-cut shirt, and Draco knew it was sodding Potter. It slipped around future-Draco's waist, drawing him closer, and teen-Draco was abruptly back to gagging.

Sometimes future-Draco caught sight of the photographer and sent a withering look their way, after which the camera would start shaking. But for the most part, he seemed unaware of the shots. The photos tended to be focused on his future-self's abdomen, which was ridiculous, because he was slim as ever. Admittedly, sometimes future-Draco's robes were somewhat crinkled, by his position or motion, but to identify it as a pregnancy was a _definite_ stretch.

In one picture, future-Draco was looking especially...vulnerable. He was outside of a large house wearing dark green robes, his blonde hair uncharacteristically disheveled. It appeared early, the blonde weary, and in his arms he clutched that appallingly fluffy black cat that looked entirely unpleasant.

For some reason, Draco's eyes drifted down, and he found himself scrutinizing his future-self's abdomen, peering, speculating, tilting his head and wondering if there wasn't the slightest of bumps, until three minutes had passed, and Draco realized what he was doing—that he had condescended to the behavior of a nosy, gossip mongering housewife. He looked back up just in time to catch the image of his future-self giving him the finger.

Draco blushed and irritably turned the page, where he was nearly blinded by a full-page spread of his future-self and future-Potter seated at Brews and Stews sharing a kiss, both grinning, like it was just starting or ending. Draco's eyes flashed silver, and the paper burst into flames. He yelped, and patted at himself as the fire singed his robes. He pulled them off, which brought him down to his slacks. Then he brushed the ash remnants of the paper off his bed. He wasn't the most adept with wandless magic, and tended to only use it on impulse. _Well, that's over,_ Draco thought venomously. He could hear Goyle snoring, and Blaise's quiet moans in his sleep. Draco dropped back and folded his arms behind his head, trying his best to wind down, lest he had another outburst.

Biting his lip, he absently stared at the roof if his bed. Him...him and Potter. Merlin, he could just die.

 _No. I'm going to murder him_ , Draco decided. More importantly, Potter could never find out about the depth of—whatever it was that was going on between them in the future. Potter couldn't know about the marriage, the cat, or the gorgeous fucking house. And most importantly, Potter couldn't know about the fact that Draco was the one to carry Molly.

No doubt future-Potter was not above brainwashing. Perhaps Draco could use his early knowledge to avoid the whole mess all together. He couldn't be with Potter. He couldn't even stand the thought of it.

But they had a daughter. It was the one, prevailing fact that demanded that he did not alter the future.

Draco frowned to himself. He still couldn't determine how in five short years his and Potter's enmity would make a complete turnaround. No doubt the war had had an impact.

There was the sound of a throat clearing just outside of his curtains. Draco blinked and sat up. He drew his curtains back, but he could spot no figure in the darkness. "Blaise?"

"Blaise!?" said an affronted voice.

Draco stiffened. "Potter?"

"Shhh."

Draco was practically pushed aside as an invisible figure crawled into the bed beside him. Then from nowhere, Potter appeared, shedding a shimmering silver cloak from his shoulders.

Draco was too stunned to process what was going on. As Potter drew the curtains back around the bed, Draco abruptly collected his composure. "Stay away from me, Potter."

Potter gave him a perturbed look. "Malfoy," he greeted, lifting his wand. Draco flinched, but Potter simply casted a silencing charm. Then Potter threw a self-depreciating grin. "She said she missed you." It was bitterly said.

It was only then that Draco noticed the sleeping child bundled in Potter's arms. With another hasty spell, Potter summoned a cot. As it dropped to the floor, surprisingly no one woke up, or at least they pretended not to.

Draco relaxed somewhat, though he and Potter took to glaring at each other.

"Sorry," said Potter, suddenly, though it was clear that he didn't know what he was apologizing for. For some reason, this only annoyed Draco. Potter was trying to endear himself to him, or some such nonsense. Draco vowed not to let the prat get under his skin.

As Draco continued to glower, Potter sighed and marveled at Molly. "Could you believe it?" he said, somewhat morbidly. "You and me—married?"

"Who said we get married?" was Draco's grudging protest even though he knew it was true.

Potter shrugged. "I kind of just assumed."

"I would advise you to rein in your expectations," said Draco icily.

Potter peered at him. "What's wrong with you?"

Molly stirred and mumbled in her sleep. Both boys remained silent until she was still again.

Potter's frowned down at the child. "Why doesn't she like me?" he grumbled.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. "She does."

"You're mad."

"She just likes to torture you," said Draco.

"You're not serious?"

"It's fun," Draco deadpanned.

Harry snorted. "She sounds like a Slytherin."

"Mmm." Draco could not contain the warmth he felt at this. He smiled a little. "In addition to that, I...suspect...that you're nothing like your future self. Maybe I'm just more familiar to her." Draco experienced another flash of future-Potter’s solemn image at the Quidditch match. And his confident grin into that idle kiss. Future-Potter was nothing like this frumpy prototype.

"What makes you think that?" Potter narrowed his eyes.

"Er...nothing," said Draco, averting his eyes. "Is there a reason you're still here?" he added haughtily.

Potter dismissed him. "You know, she said she likes you better than me."

Draco felt another surge of pride.

"What am I, a pariah? Or better yet, a shitty dad." Potter groaned.

Draco cut in, "I think Molly and I have a unique bond to each other."

"Why would you say that?"

Draco did not respond. He was not sure why he'd said as much as he had as it was. He maintained a healthy distance from Potter, but soon found himself reaching out to lightly stroke Molly's face, even despite Potter's stare. But then Potter seemed to regain himself, and as he shifted, Draco immediately tensed.

"Why are you acting scared of me?" Potter said in confusion.

"Why the hell would I be afraid of you, _Potter_ ," Draco retorted, forcing himself to unbrace his muscles.

Harry reached out experimentally, a smirk on his face as he touched Draco's shoulder. Draco forced himself not to cringe, and it was worth it to watch as Potter's smug expression shrank away.

But now, Potter looked thoughtful. He idly stroked Draco's arm, cool fingers trailing down to tickle against Draco's bare skin. "Then I'll see you later...Draco." His name rolled off Potter's tongue and flooded Draco with his newest surge of warmth, this one not entirely logical.

Climbing up, Potter gently lowered Molly to the cot. With that, he replaced his shimmering cloak around his shoulders and promptly disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

The twenty-six-year-old Harry lightly stroked his neck, and shivered at the soreness this roused. _Back to turtlenecks,_ then, he mused wryly.

He stared at the high ceiling for a while, trying to savor what was left of his contentment. But as expected, it shrank away, to be replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and a coldness that could not be alleviated. He turned to his left side, but his husband was missing. Harry sat up in the bed, to see that Draco had returned to the desk on the far side of the room.

Hogwarts was still somewhat unsettling for Harry. Certain sights left him with chills of excitement and evoked some of his best memories. Other sights, however, left Harry feeling sober and miserable. He wondered if Draco felt the same about Hogwarts. Harry hoped that someday both of them could come to love it again.

Harry climbed to his feet and walked to the desk. Draco was naked except for his briefs, again hunched down, his face buried in his arms. Harry was not sure how long he had been there.

_I forgot how long his hair is getting_ , Harry thought as he admired the loose curls that hung down to hide Draco's face. Absently, Harry stroked Draco's back, where he encountered a tremor. "Are you…crying?" Harry's voice wavered, and he was slightly stunned.

Harry was struck by how utterly hopeless the other man seemed. It was like Draco had no hope for Molly at all. Swallowing down his anxiety, Harry again stroked the gentle knots of Draco's spine. He tried not to think of the pressing reality of their daughter's continued absence, and their lack of progress in finding her.

Harry leaned down, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders, and resting his face against his nape. He stayed there for a while, against his husband's warmth, where Harry closed his eyes, and sniffed. _Draco_.

Finally, there was acknowledgement. Draco placed a hand on Harry's arm. After another moment, he sat up. Harry pulled back, to see that Draco's cheeks were raw.

"I'm not," Draco muttered, obstinate and unconvincing. He hastily rubbed his eyes as Harry marveled at him. Harry had never seen the other man so vulnerable, at least not for a while.

Draco grimaced under Harry's scrutiny. "I can't help it. She's my fucking daughter," he snapped, turning away. "And believe it or not, I do care about her." Draco got up, and pushed past the other man. He stalked to the dresser and hastily started pulling on clothes.

"I know," said Harry. "And I don't blame you. I promise we'll get her back. I'm just asking you to have some hope."

Draco deeply inhaled, and nodded. His back turned, he continued to button up his shirt.

Harry sagged, wearied. But for some reason, his senses were pestered by…Draco. Draco's magic. Harry wandered over. _Oh…_ He wrapped his arms around his disheveled husband, drawing him closer, so his back was to Harry's chest. Harry's hand slid up beneath Draco's shirt, and he stroked Draco's flat stomach thoughtfully.

There was a knock on the door, and both looked up.

"We're coming," said Draco, pulling away from Harry.

Dithering just for a moment, Harry turned to get dressed.

Twenty minutes later, the two were back in McGonagall's office, surrounded by their previous company.

Today, Draco was not as elegant as ever. His hair was not sleeked back but unevenly hanging in his eyes, as though a barrier between his guilt and their frustrations. His head was bowed, and he looked paler than ever. He was breathless, and shaky, and visibly falling apart. His shields were down, and it betrayed his anxiety.

Harry bit his bottom lip. He was again on the far side of the room, hoping not to distract Draco with his own insecurities.

Frowning at Draco, McGonagall called him over to her desk. Harry watched as they exchanged words, and McGonagall raised a vial of potion, which Draco clasped. Harry scrutinized the vial briefly. It was just a pepper-up. It was fine. He watched as Draco gulped it down, and more mutters were exchanged between his husband and the headmaster. Draco nodded to her, and when he returned to the center of the room, his jaw was set and his tremors were gone. His fingers absently drew back his hair, and his eyes looked strangely dull to Harry. Their gazes met, for just an instant, during which Harry offered an encouraging smile.

But Draco continued to look solemn. Removing his wand from the pocket of his robes, he lowered it to a chair as Snape, in his portrait, nodded. With that, Draco closed his eyes, raised his arms, and got started.

*

Ten years in the past, the teenage Draco could not help noticing that Molly was again clutching the sleeve of his robes as they walked through the Hogwarts corridors. He found it to be an odd habit, but when he disallowed it, Molly promptly started bumping into things.

Draco's concern was exacerbated in the library as he went over his Runes textbook at a table in the corner. Molly latched herself to his back, leaned over his shoulder, and took to squinting at the text. Previously, he had attributed her squinting habit to a lack of familiarity with the letters. But as he watched her, Draco was not too certain. He threw a glance at Potter, who was leaning over a table, pouring over a scroll with Weasley. At noticing Draco's gaze, Potter excused himself and strolled over.

Draco detached Molly from his back and set her on the table. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he said as he raised the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand, not three feet away from her face. _Two._

"Six," said Molly.

Draco's jaw dropped. He glared at Potter.

Potter frowned at the child in sympathy. "I think you need glasses, hun. Afraid you got your eyes from me." Potter removed his spectacles. "Here, try these."

Draco looked on in silent horror as Potter's glasses were placed on Molly's face.

"How do things look?" Potter asked.

Molly blinked a few times in perplexity. Her face brightened. "Everything looks so pretty!" She was staring at Draco, to his offense.

Potter grinned as Draco gritted his teeth. Molly examined her lap. "Do I look like a nerd?" she mumbled.

Potter's face fell, and he scowled at Draco for some reason. Draco was silent for a while as he scrutinized the child. He was entirely unhappy about the whole situation. Despite it, beyond the slightly-oversized glasses, Molly didn't look appalling. The glasses actually looked…cute on her.

"No Molly, you look fine," he said tersely as he returned his attention to his text. From the corner of his eye, the child beamed.

Looking all-too pleased with himself, Potter blindly tottered off. There was a yelp. Great, now _he_ was bumping into things.

As the sounds of gasps, thuds, and grunts trailed deep into the bookshelves, Draco ground his teeth impatiently and got to his feet. Unceremoniously depositing Molly at Weasley's table ("Hey!"), he followed Potter into the rows of books.

Potter was squinting at some texts on wereroosters when Draco grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back into the shelf, causing books to fall around them. As Potter gasped in fright and flailed awkwardly, it became apparent to Draco that Potter could not recognize him. And as interested as Draco was on capitalizing on this notion, the blonde sighed, released Potter, and pulled out his wand.

"Who's there?" Potter stammered.

Draco lightly touched his wand to Potter's forehead causing green eyes to widen.

*

Everything was clear—clearer than ever. More bright, and vivid, than even when he'd had his glasses on. Harry stared at the flecks of blue dancing around Draco's eyes. "Wow, how did you…"

"It's an esoteric spell," said Draco nonchalantly. "There was a significant chance it could have blinded you."

Harry's face fell. "Thanks," he deadpanned.

"Anything to spare myself the sight of you banging around like an oaf," said Draco as he casually examined some of the fallen books.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to stay level, and keep his temper in check. It was all too easy for Draco to antagonize him. He had to stop falling into his trap.

Draco looked different in this clearer perception of him. His eyelashes were more distinct where they almost rested against his cheeks. His hair was a richer blonde, though still incredibly pale. His lips seemed pinker…softer. "Why did you even know that spell?" said Harry absently.

Draco's eyes lifted, and he looked distinctly embarrassed for a fleeting instant. He developed the faintest flush to his cheeks that Harry might not have caught from behind his glasses.

Realization dawned on Harry. "Did you learn the spell for me?" Harry swallowed, suddenly full of nerves. "Are you...investing in me? In…our future?"

Draco's eyes widened, looking more silver than gray now. He narrowed them at Harry. "I couldn't care less about your ability to see. Though if you get run over by a thestral, Molly might be disheartened. If I'm investing in anything—which I'm not—it's her. Otherwise I would happily watch you blindly muck about for the rest of your education and NOT qualify to become an Auror."

Harry blinked. "What are you talking ab—"

"Do you know how hard it is to defeat dark wizards when you're blind as a bat, Potter?" Draco stepped closer. "Then you have the nerve to pass your impairment down to Molly, you troll. I should just leave you blind. Instigate a new world order. You'll have no job. No kid. Just new dark ages, and perhaps a quaint life in some ditch somewhere."

Harry gave his future-spouse an odd look. "Draco, I could have gotten new glasses—"

"They're juvenile, and flimsy, and utterly lacking in style." Draco sneered. "They practically break every time someone sneezes at you. Do you really want the future of the wizarding world dependent on your glasses not combusting for the twelve-hundredth time they're lightly jostled? The only reason I'm not considering fixing Molly's vision as well is because she's young. The glasses don't look bad on her."

"But I look better without them?"

"Of course! You have fucking _emerald eyes_ , Potter."

There was silence as Harry blushed and Draco realized what he had said.

"So you like me better without them," Harry confirmed.

*

Potter's eyes darkened, and dissected him. The look was so unfamiliar, Draco was taken aback. Heat surged to his lower stomach as Potter stepped forward, closing what little distance remained between them. He seemed oblivious of the predatory look in his green eyes.

By impulse, Draco pointed his wand at Potter's chest, successfully jarring him. Potter blinked, and his face gave way to Present-Time-Potter with the sex appeal of a toaster.

Draco swallowed. "Careful Potter," he warned, just as Granger strolled by.

"Well I'm glad to see you two getting along." She smiled knowingly.

"We're not," the two responded, Draco harshly and Potter awkwardly.

With that, the two walked off in opposite directions.

Over the next day, Draco took to ignoring Potter. It just seemed practical for his mental health.

That evening in the Slytherin common room, he, Blaise, and Pansy took to working on their fourty-inch Potions essays, though Draco found that every thirty or so seconds he was distracted. He peered at Molly who was running around, yammering, playing, or sometimes pausing to gawk at them so blatantly from beyond her round spectacles, that Blaise had begun to fidget self-consciously.

Draco withheld a groan as Molly went back to buzzing around. She had entirely too much energy.

"Do you mind?" said Pansy, giving Draco a nasty look.

"What?" Draco sneered back.

Molly was now facing them, and rocking somewhat, as she teetered on a sneeze. She held a finger under her nose. "Ah…ah…ahh…"

"We're trying to get work done," drawled Blaise.

"She's a child, not an animal. I can't just put her outside," said Draco.

"Just do something," said Pansy. "You're her parent. Aren't you supposed to be training her or entertaining her or dressing her decently at the very least?"

Draco glanced at the odds and ends that attempted to pass as Molly's wardrobe. He had appealed to (threatened) some scrawny first-years for spare robes, but even those were oversized to the point that Molly was swimming in them. Molly looked even more disheveled than before, in fact, beginning to resemble a newly-liberated house elf. _Fucking Potter_ , thought Draco arbitrarily, as Potter could be blamed for everything. Of course those Potter-genes would leave Molly graceless and rumpled. Though inconvenient, Draco liked her anyway. "Listen Pans, I'm _not_ her parent. At least not _yet_. And as such, I'm hardly responsible-"

"Ahh-CHOO!" Molly sneezed.

The couch flipped, and Draco felt his body slamming into the opposite wall. Scrolls and quills went flying everywhere. Groaning, Draco lifted his head from the carpet and turned his head to see Blaise and Pansy sprawled beside him, their limbs contorted awkwardly. Pansy tried to get up, trembled, and fell back down. Slowly, Draco lowered his throbbing head back to the ground.

He could hear gasps and whispers, as bodies came to surround their pathetic figures. Draco finally found the energy to climb up to all fours. He was stunned by the powerful display of accidental magic. He had never seen anything like it before.

Molly sniffed and rubbed her nose.

Draco climbed unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his shoulder. _I'm not cut out for this_ , he thought, but still pushed past the crowd of stunned Slytherins to approach his future-daughter. "Are you getting a cold?"

As Molly shrugged, he straightened her glasses. Draco didn't know why, but he lifted her. Molly automatically wrapped her arms and legs around his torso, and he felt her forehead to his. _No fever_. He unconsciously coddled her.

Draco turned back around, to see that Pansy and Blaise were now sitting up, staring at him. In fact, the whole common room was gaping at him in shock.

Reddening slightly, Draco lowered Molly. "I'll…erm…deal with this," he mentioned, before grabbing Molly's hand and dragging her off out of the snake's den.

Draco felt the weird impulse to take Molly to the hospital wing as she sniffed again. But that was ridiculous. It was just a possible cold. He tried to shift his thoughts back to the task at hand. Getting a break from her. Because the longer they were together, the more this strange…familial…thing between them seemed to grow. And what truly frightened Draco about it, was that it wasn't nearly as unnerving as it was…comfortable.

Draco pulled her along another corridor.

Despite being walking atrocities, Potters sidekicks proved fairly competent babysitters, if nothing else. In the past days, even Draco had begun to solicit them, albeit grudgingly.

He found them making out furiously in the portrait hall as Headmasters from years past gaped at them in horror. Covering Molly's eyes, Draco cleared his throat.

The two prefects looked up, both blushing. They quickly composed themselves as though they had not been sucking faces just seconds before. Both fixed Draco with politely questioning expressions.

"I need you to watch Molly," Draco mentioned, already walking off. He added over his shoulder, "She may be getting a cold-"

"Fifty galleons."

Draco froze in his tracks. He turned, and stared at Weasley. "You don't charge Potter," he accused.

"You're not Potter," said Weasley, then he paused. "Oh wait, I suppose you are."

As Weasley clutched his stomach and chortled hysterically at his own joke, Molly giggled as well, though she didn't seem to understand what Weasley was laughing about.

Draco glared, hoping he didn't look as uneasy as he felt. And he didn't think he had the stomach to argue against Weasley's implication, since he would most likely lose. "What difference does it make? She's his daughter," he said through his teeth.

"Oh, it makes a big difference." Weasley had recovered. " _You're_ the one asking for the favor."

Meanwhile Granger had wandered forward, and was looking appalled at Molly's robes.

Draco clenched his fist. So he wasn't that great at this parenting thing. "Leave it to a _Weasley_ to try to profit on anything, even his best friend's _daughter_. Are you going to watch her or not?"

"As I said, my time is valuable."

"Because clearly you're busy!"

At this, both Granger and Weasley blushed.

"Jealous, Malfoy?" said Weasley.

Draco almost retched. "Of her?"

"Of what we have," said Weasley. "I haven't seen you with any blokes."

That was right. He was officially outed.

Ignoring the Weasle, Draco turned his attention to Molly. To his astonishment, Granger had resized her robes so that they now fit her properly, and were no longer dragging on the floor. "Molly, do you want to stay with—" Draco forced out his next words. "—uncle Ron? And aunt Hhhh…Hermione?" _Oh Merlin, these are my child's aunt and uncle._ He shuddered. Draco gently nudged Molly forward, and towards the two barbarians in question. Weasley and Granger were tossers, but they would never sink so low as to reject a small child, not one as obnoxiously cute as Molly was.

Molly turned back to Draco, blinking innocently. "But father, I want to stay with _you!_ "

_Dammit_ , thought Draco, as his plan had backfired. His heart twisted uncomfortably as he fruitlessly tried to back away.

"Fine," Draco growled finally, after Molly's wide blinking eyes had thoroughly corrupted him.

"Yay!" said Molly, hopping around, and Draco felt more of that twisty sensation in his chest.

The blonde was beyond annoyed with himself. _I have no time for this._ The novelty of having a daughter had worn off. _Whose idea was it to have a children anyway?_ He became vaguely aware that Molly was no longer bouncing, and was now talking enthusiastically.

"…and on Tuesday evenings, father cooks, and daddy teaches me to fly," said Molly knowledgeably.

Draco blanched as Weasley snickered. There was his real problem. All of Molly's incriminating anecdotes seemed to paint a cozy picture of his and Potter's future domestic life.

"Tonight we're going to _study_ ," said Draco firmly, causing Molly to furrow her brows.

"Don't get her angry," said Weasley nervously.

Granger sighed. "I wish you and Harry would just get together!" She had been biting her lip up until that point.

Draco sputtered.

"In terms of _proximity_ ," Granger elaborated. "This world has completely altered her routine. Coming to the past is hard enough. Now she has to deal with the trauma or her fathers being, well— _separated_ ," Granger whispered loudly.

Molly blinked.

" _Separated_ would imply that Potter and I were at some point together—which we _weren't_ ," said Draco testily.

"She doesn't know that!"

Draco pressed his lips.

"Worse you're avoiding him now—don't deny it! Harry's off by the lake right now. He would happily watch her if you just asked."

But Draco ignored her, as he gripped Molly's hand. "C'mon Molly. Time to _study_." And he dragged her off.

*

Draco lived in constant fear that he was getting…attached. _Well, what if she doesn't happen this time around,_ he reasoned. It was a likely possibility. _Her parents wouldn't be pleased._ Draco remembered the imagines of his future self and future-Potter from Molly's now-destroyed newspaper.

Draco didn't know whether it was practical or demented that he was thinking these things. Didn't Molly deserve his best effort to ensure her existence? Potter seemed willing enough. Draco shuddered.

And why was he thinking about their future selves as separate entities? They were the same people, just—older and wiser versions of him and Potter. Which meant the most productive decisions Draco could make going forward was probably to follow his future-self's lead.

"Daddy!" Molly cried as Potter arrived.

Potter scooped Molly up in a big hug. "Hey love." He showered her hair with kisses. He loved her so naturally. Draco did his best to ignore it. _Since when have they been getting along?_

Pottered lowered Molly, and his attention shifted to his future co-parent. "Ron and Hermione offered to watch her for our match tomorrow."

"Did they?" Draco fumed.

"I also think we should, er, try to get along." Potter was likely quoting something the harping Know-It-All had told him. "For Molly's sake."

Draco snorted. _You wish, Potter._ If anything, Draco was quite certain that Molly was sickened by the intimacy between their future counterparts. _So I'll do the exact opposite_ , he reasoned, smugly.

To Draco's secret pleasure, Molly gravitated back to him, taking his hand. But Draco was aghast when he noticed that she was gripping Potter's hand as well. Potter looked absolutely elated. And to Draco's horror, it was Potter who took the lead, as always, and pulled them into class. Draco had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged along.

There were scattered giggles as Snape eyed the trio from his desk.

"Future daughter," Draco explained shortly.

"She came from the future," Potter piped in unhelpfully. He gazed at Molly lovingly.

"So I've been informed," said Snape, scrutinizing Molly's green eyes and spectacles. Though the girl undeniably took after Draco, she seemed to be getting more Potter-like by the day. Snape gave Draco a disapproving look, as though he had signed up for this.

Draco glowered back.

"Though I'm regretful to break up the _happy_ family, Mr. Malfoy, you will work with Miss Potter today. I could hardly trust _The Chosen One_ to divide his attention between a simple potion and a small child. It would be in the best interest of the class if the two were separated."

Potter scowled, though he released Molly's hand. Draco briefly closed his eyes, but nodded. "C'mon," he muttered, pulling Molly along to a cauldron as Potter stared after them.

As Draco got to work on his ageing potion, Molly was surprisingly well-behaved and observant, like they'd done this before. Draco had anticipated Molly playing with ingredients or inciting chaos with her hyperactivity. Instead she sat waiting on baited breath for him to finish.

"What's wrong?" Draco heard himself say.

Molly nipped her bottom lip in a Potter-ish fashion. "I'm not spose to distract you."

Draco's lip curled. "This potion is simple. I can make it in my sleep."

Molly smiled, though she still looked troubled.

"Are you feeling okay?" Draco resisted the urge to feel her forehead again.

Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"Then what is it?"

Molly hesitated, and threw a glance at Potter on the other side of the classroom. "Are you angry at daddy?"

Draco's eyes widened. "I…er…of course not." He forced a smile, hoping that it was reassuring. "We're both busy…you know. But I'm not angry."

Molly fidgeted uncertainly, and there was a lapse of silence.

"We'll all do something together soon," Draco promised.

Molly grinned and nodded.

With that Draco returned to brewing as Molly smiled shyly to herself.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Draco.

Molly tilted her head.

Draco gave a glance at his godfather, who was prowling the room, deducting points from Gryffindors. He had noticed Molly's lack of acknowledgement of the man, and it had been eating at him ever since. Molly was from only ten years in the future. Surely she had met Severus, once or twice. He opened his mouth to inquire about the discrepancy, but then shut it, and forced himself into silence. He refused to think about the war, and the impending deaths. He just hoped the future would reclaim Molly soon, before the war came to Hogwarts. He wanted to spare her the mess her parents had gotten themselves into.

Draco tensed slightly as he felt Molly snuggle against him. She gazed up at him with her big green eyes.

"Why is Uncle Snape outside of his portrait?" she whispered nervously, and left Draco reeling.

"He…um…" Draco trailed off, held his head, and sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

"Nappies, Potter?"

Potter looked up as diapers, binkies, and bibs rained down on his head.

"For the baby." Pansy rubbed her stomach for emphasis.

The whole hall erupted in laughter—even Weasley and Granger could hardly contain themselves.

"Take some for yourself as well," Blaise added as he and Pansy cackled at Potter's obvious mortification.

From Slytherin table, Draco snickered at the scene, but he abruptly paused, his face falling as he realized they were unintentionally making fun of _him_. "What the hell was that?" he snarled as his friends strolled over.

"Just having some fun," said Pansy. "You could have joined."

Draco shook his head. "He's Molly's father— _other_ father." He glanced at the child in question, who was busily besetting some first-years. "Why would you do something like that?"

"The thought of the great Harry Potter up the duff is too hilarious to pass up," Blaise admitted.

"Perfect Potter. Defender of the Wizarding World and glowing mother-to-be," Pansy laughed as she took her seat. Blaise sat down on Draco's opposite side.

Draco glowered. "There's nothing wrong with—with..." he trailed off, and now his friends were staring at him. "It takes a powerful wizard to—" Again, he had to stop.

"You know, Draco," said Pansy. "I'm quite impressed with you."

Draco swallowed.

"To think, you'll be the one to _dominate_ the Chosen One. How does it feel to know you get the great Harry Potter down on his knees?"

Draco's face darkened. He was deeply annoyed by the continued obsession with his and Potter's future-sex roles. He disregarded the fact that he had started the whole thing. "I'd prefer not to discuss sex positions over breakfast," he drawled as he impaled some potatoes with his knife.

"Then maybe over dinner," said Pansy, her hand lowering against his.

"Or drinks?" said Blaise, sensually stroking Draco's cheek.

Draco raised a blonde eyebrow. He had done it with each of them individually, but never all together. "Really?" he said incredulously.

"I'm not going to lie. This Potter business has definitely increased your sex appeal," said Blaise.

Draco took a sip of his tea as he contemplated the proposal.

"I'm not opposed to drinks." He leered at them both. "We'll have to celebrate my Quidditch victory after all."

Smirks formed on all three of their faces.

 _The only obstacle_ , Draco supposed, _would be getting rid of Molly_.

*

"Harry, are you okay?" said Hermione as she vanished the remaining diapers.

Harry was hardly paying her any mind. He was too busy staring at the Slytherin table, watching as Blaise Zabini discreetly reach down to lay his hand on Draco's thigh, and as Pansy Parkinson leaned over to whisper something in Draco's ear.

 _Slytherin perverts_ , Harry thought, gripping his fork tightly as he tried not to envision himself stabbing Parkinson in the spleen with it.

Harry had seen their subtle intimacy in the past, fleetingly. Though this was the first time it actually bothered him. Didn't they know that Draco was practically _obliged_ to another?

"You alright, mate? You look a bit off."

He threw a glance at Ron. Harry had always assumed that he would end up with Ginny, if just out of comfort and convenience. He felt a strong connection to her, as well as the rest of the Weasleys. But suddenly things had changed. Perhaps since the incident in the library...

Draco detached himself from his Slytherin classmates, not without a faint smirk. Quickly replacing it with a jaded expression, Draco walked over to the far end of the table, where he unceremoniously grabbed Molly up like a rag doll. With the child hanging under his arm, Draco impassively strolled out of the Great Hall.

Harry jumped to his feet and went after the blonde. Ron started, as though to follow, but Hermione grabbed hold of the red-head's arm. "Let him!" she hissed.

Hurrying out of the large oak double doors, Harry just managed to cut Draco off by the stairs.

*

"Potter," Draco spat, setting Molly on her feet, his surprise rapidly becoming annoyance.

Potter wet his lips. "I was thinking…"

Molly looked from one to the other, as though trying to figure out whether they would start fighting or kissing.

"You _were?_ Astounding," Draco mocked, resentful of Potter's rapidly growing confidence. Every encounter seemed to coax Potter further towards his future personality. He seemed to be getting more sexual, and worse, possessive. Potter was freely, indulgently staring now. How did Draco make it clear that Potter had no right to look at him like that?

At Draco's glare, Potter glanced away. "We're going to have a child, Draco. In five years. We better…erm…start talking," he said inelegantly.

"Why?"

"Because we don't even know each other, or see each other like that. I didn't even know I was gay!"

A group of passing fifth-years burst into giggles.

Potter stepped closer. "Why are you so nervous?" he queried. Potter was nervous but Draco was sweating.

Draco quickly gathered his composure. "Who's to say any of this," Draco gestured to his impromptu family, "starts here? Who's to say it doesn't start at some job or meeting four years from now?"

Potter closed their remaining distance. "It's already started."

"Potter." But this time Draco's hand twitched and fell away from his wand.

Molly's smile fell. "Nooo..." she groaned, like this was a recurring issue for her. She fruitlessly attempted to push them apart.

Draco found himself fully cornered, Potter's body pressing his. Potter trailed his hand along Draco's arm, tentatively. "Is this so bad?" he asked nervously.

As Potter's fingers glided up to stroke his throat, Draco felt his eyelids lower almost completely. His brain submerged itself in a thick stupor. He feebly tried to shake it off.

"Everyone knows you're bent," Draco said, if just to chip at Potter's courage.

"You aren't exactly open about your sexuality."

"Just because I don't announce it doesn't mean I'm embarrassed about it." He placed his hand on Potter's hip if just to affirm this.

Potter reddened, but seemed to have no retort. Instead he let his actions speak, fingers moving challengingly, now drifting up and along Draco's jaw line. Draco's eyelids fluttered. He could feel himself sinking deeper into that unpleasant, smothering…contentment. He felt as though he was under a spell, because Potter was…

Assertive. Handsy and assertive. He was a step-taker, move maker, the more dominant...dominant party between them.

"You're sensitive..." Potter sounded amused.

Not really. Not normally. This was just _different_ somehow.

Potter pulled him closer, and Draco's muscles all but resigned. His fingers gripped the back of Potter's robes as he tried not to tremble from the trail of contact now moving along his spine. It was comfortable, worse, it was utterly _right_. Suddenly their foreheads were touching, noses brushing, the heat of Potter's breath pulsing on his lips.

Draco wrenched himself away, and out of the fog, trying to rationalize why he had melted in Potter's arms.

Potter was not dismayed. Instead, he was wearing an easy smile. "Progress," he murmured.

"Sod off," Draco retorted. He pushed Potter roughly away from him and stalked off towards the dungeons.

Why was he so defenseless to Potter, of all people? It was nothing like any of the other encounters he'd had before. _Salazar_ , he thought, looking down at the bulge in his robes. His self-resentment near bubbling over by then, Draco opened a bathroom door and slammed it shut behind him.

*

He floated back to his common room. Post-orgasm euphoria and all that. He almost smiled back at a beaming third-year before he lightly shook himself, and set his face with a scowl. He made his way to his dorm room, trying not to think about the fact that he had gotten off to thoughts of _Potter_. Future Potter, specifically, he reasoned. It was the less abominable entity of the two.

Draco shivered, and he felt almost regretful that Molly's newspaper, and its images of future-Potter, had been destroyed. He was just about to collapse to his four-poster bed when he heard the door open behind him.

"Where's your sidekick?"

Draco turned to face Pansy and Blaise. "With her father."

Pansy's brows rose.

"Other father," Draco grumbled. He nonchalantly walked across the room and grabbed his Quidditch robes from the closet.

"Don't you mean mother?" Pansy snickered.

"No."

Pansy and Blaise blinked.

"I'm the bottom...the particular night that Molly's conceived," Draco said, his face dark.

Now his friends were staring.

"The bastard," said Blaise blankly.

Pansy snickered. "I'm sorry, it's just—it's _Potter_."

Draco clenched his jaw.

"Plus you're more assertive."

"I'm not so sure," noted Blaise. "Potter is passive but he has pretty intense extremes."

"Well Draco's certainly more bitchy."

"Still Pansy. Not the same thing."

Draco's lip curled. "Delightful as this banter rings, it's asinine and offensive," he notified them.

Blaise and Pansy stared at the rich, white, blonde, pureblood wizard as though he'd sprouted a second rich, white, blonde, pureblood head.

"Draco—offended?" Pansy grinned as she dabbed at a fake tear with the collar of her robes.

"Words I never thought I'd hear coming out of his mouth," said Blaise.

Scowling, Draco started pulling on his Quidditch robes, ignoring that the other two leered as he did so.

"You're the one who started it. You acted like bottoms were jokes," Pansy mentioned.

"Because the idea bothered Potter. Not because it bothered me. I couldn't care less." Draco exchanged a look with Blaise as the Italian licked his lips. "It's really fucking enjoyable if you must know."

"So what the hell are you so pissy about?" Pansy cried. "Potter?"

"Of course it's Potter!" Draco spat. "Also, that prat's going to knock me up." He walked over to the full-length mirror to admire his faultless physique. "Marks me, yeah? It's not as discreet as a neck bruise. And I'm not keen on getting fat either." And yet as much as Draco detested the thought of fattening up, quitting Quidditch, and giving birth, it all felt incredibly superficial as the thought of Molly came to mind.

The mirror gave Draco a wolf whistle which secretly cheered him up some. He summoned his broom and nodded to his housemates, both of who were wearing bemused expressions. "I'm off," said Draco impassively, and he walked out of the dorm. In the common room he met up with Crabbe and Goyle, and together, the trio left the castle.

They headed for the Quidditch pitch, where they were to join the rest of the Slytherin team for a pre-game pep-talk. While crossing the field, Draco noticed a long-haired adolescent cat rolling around in the grass. He brushed if off at first as someone's escaped pet, but after a moment, he recognized it, and felt his body freeze in place.

It was Future-Draco's cat—the one from the paper. Draco turned back to it and stared in horror. There was no denying its huge eyes and crooked tail.

The cat righted itself and took to staring back. Crabbe and Goyle were looking between Draco and the small animal, confused expressions on their faces.

Draco abruptly continued walking, suddenly determined to ignore the creature. His cronies shrugged and followed. But from Draco's peripheral vision, he could see the cat trailing them from several feet away.

Breathing deeply, Draco stopped again, deciding that he was going to catch it, and skin it, if just to prove that the future was malleable. As he took a step toward the feline, it eyed him warily, looking ready to bolt.

Draco wanted to call it over, though he wasn't sure how his future-self would address such an evil-looking thing. "Hey Omen?" he tried, as the cat began to retreat. "Dusty! Inky! Mr. Black!"

The cat paused at 'Mr. Black,' but nevertheless scampered off behind the stands.

"Malfoy what the hell are you doing?" called Urquhart.

"Nothing," Draco responded. He walked over to the other Slytherin players who had assembled on the field. He, Crabbe, and Goyle were the last ones there.

"Glad to see you made it, Malfoy. I heard you're riding Potter now." The rest of the team snickered. "Use it. Distract him." Urquhart sneered.

As Urquhart went on a lengthy rant regarding the foulness of the Gryffindor team, often using crude hand gestures to emphasize his points, Draco's couldn't help his mind wandering as he pondered on the apparent inevitability of him and Potter. He felt a complete loss of control of his life as he was sucked deeper and deeper towards the fate that Molly's presence foretold.

Draco resurfaced to see that the stands had filled with greens and reds, crowds of students murmuring in excitement. Urquhart was presently describing Potter as a foul-smelling leprechaun. Coincidentally enough, the teen in question was approaching the center of the field with the rest of the Gryffindor team marching behind him.

"Urquhart," Potter greeted.

"Potter," Utquhart spat.

"Shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch, and Potter and Urquhart stiffly did so. "Mount your brooms. Kick-off in three…two…"

Draco shot into the air, his hair whipping around him as he lifted higher than the others. He peered around, eyes narrowed. He would not lose again. Not to Potter. Draco noticed the prat in question drifting above the Slytherin goals. Draco flew over to join him.

"Wanker," Draco greeted, ironically. "That was quite a performance earlier."

Potter ignored him, his eyes darting about for the snitch.

"I would have almost thought you were serious," Draco drawled.

"I was, Malfoy."

 _Back to Malfoy?_ Draco smirked.

"And so were you. Though maybe this isn't the best time—" Potter's broom jerked as Draco intentionally cut him off. "—to be discussing our relationship?"

"Relationship?" A look of disgust crossed Draco's face.

Green eyes snapped up, and Draco was momentarily stunned by the defiance blazing within them.

"Potter, you look like a—a vile leprechaun," Draco quoted Urquhart, too distracted to think up insults of his own. "You smell like—" _peppermint_ "—moldy carrots. To top things off, your scar is just horrendous."

Potter's face reddened, and Draco knew the brunette was holding his temper on taut strings. "What about Molly?"

Draco bit his lip. "Molly's conception can be arranged without any melodrama. And preferably a bag on your head."

Potter looked furious. Though it was hard to be certain. Potter's looks of enmity and arousal were largely the same. Draco swallowed as Potter rapidly approached, and just as Draco intended to swerve, Potter darted off again.

"Having trouble Potter?" Draco flew after him, glancing around for the snitch.

"You would really change our future?" Potter called.

"What's to change? I'm working blindly. I don't know how things are supposed to turn out."

Potter continued to glare.

"Though if you're that keen on being my bitch..." Draco licked his lips, enjoying as Potter blushed crimson. "I'm sure that something can be arranged."

Suddenly Potter was no longer looking at Draco, but something beyond his shoulder. As Potter shot past Draco and higher into the air, Draco didn't hesitate, he tailed him. Soon the two were head to head, flying higher, the snitch several feet over the rest of the game.

Draco squinted against the beaming sunlight, not caring as black splotches appeared in his vision. Both he and Potter reached out, leaning forward as much as they could. Draco snatched for the snitch, his heart pounding as he clasped the golden ball.

But at the same moment Draco won Slytherin the match, Potter shoved him forcefully, and Draco had to grip tightly at his broom to stay mounted. Something hard clipped his ear and left it stinging. Draco watched as a bludger whizzed by his head.

Potter toppled forward from the force of the shove, and Draco was momentarily stunned by the ridiculousness of it all.

The game was over, the crowd buzzing, excitement turning to confusion as Potter fell rapidly towards the ground.

Regaining himself, Draco aimed his broom steeply downwards, shooting after Potter, as the rest of the world remained suspended. The snitch dropped from his grasp, forgotten, as he gripped his broom with both hands in a sharp dive, his heart pounding as the earth rushed towards him.

Draco's arm extended as he grabbed for the sleeve of Potter's robes. He brushed it.

He missed.

There was a sickening crunch.

Draco hardly rolled off his broom before it crashed and splintered beside red-stained Quidditch robes.

If the crowd reacted, Draco did not notice. All he could hear was the pounding of his pulse. Somehow he got up, and staggered away from Potter's contorted figure, trying not to retch, and looking everywhere but at the fallen teenager.

*

A somber air hung over the castle that day.

Draco paced alone in his dorm, forcing himself to stay focused on Molly. After the incident, he had become conscious that Molly had likely witnessed the scene. At present, she was still with Granger and Weasley and Draco didn't feel particularly equipped to…comfort her. It seemed for the best that Granger and Weasley kept her until this whole Potter thing just…blew over.

He looked dead.

Draco didn't remember much of what had happened after the game. He knew that Potter had been bleeding, twisted, and white. He remembered Potter's arm falling away from his stretcher and seeping a trail of blood as he was raced off to the castle.

 _Quidditch is dangerous_ , Draco mused, and decided that he would focus on that. Molly was not to view it going forward. Not even when it became Draco's professional career. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on Molly, but was jerked back into reality when he heard a knock on the door.

Draco approached the door, and before he could reach for the knob, it swung open, and a hand shot out to grab his arm. Draco found himself being dragged by Pansy through the common room, out the portrait hole, and up the staircase to the first floor.

They finally stopped outside the hospital wing, and Pansy prodded him forward, but Draco was too unnerved to proceed. "What if Potter's dead?" he said blankly.

"We'll have a party," said Pansy flatly.

But what if Potter _was_ dead? Or permanently injured? He must have at least broken his spine. What if Potter couldn't play Quidditch anymore, or become an auror? Worse, what if none of this was ever meant to happen? Draco had been taunting, baiting, and distracting Potter throughout the entire match. He was almost certain that this had not happened in the original run of their lives.

Not wanting to have to face it, Draco began to walk off.

"There you are," a voice scoffed.

Draco turned back to see Madam Pomfrey poking her head out of the hospital wing.

"Where have you been?" the matron went on. "Your family needs you."

The term made Draco uneasy. Family was the cold starkness of the manor. It had never been Potter. "He's not my—"

"Get in here," Pomfrey cut him off. "What are you waiting for? Come along." She disappeared again.

For some reason, Draco felt his legs follow, and he pushed his way though the door.

Granger and Weasley sat by the bed, both looking grave. They looked up as Draco approached, Weasley frowning, and Granger's face covered in tears. The couple stood. "We'll wait outside." They held hands and walked out of the room.

Draco could now see Potter lying unconscious in a bed, sheets drawn to his chest. He was noticeably pale, but the blood was gone, and his limbs no longer looked as though they had several extra joints. At his side, Molly gripped Potter's shirt. Her eyes were closed, breaths long, and her face tucked against Potter's shoulder.

Potter looked alive, and it was enough for the moment. Draco released a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

Though resentful of the fact that Granger and Weasley would think he necessitated time alone with the invalid, Draco found himself approaching Potter's bed. He reached out absently to Potter's shoulder, and was surprised to see his hand tremble as it made contact.

Potter's face tightened, and then he was looking up at Draco with half-lidded eyes. "You're here," Potter groaned out, and to Draco's alarm, he heaved himself up to a sitting position. Potter offered Draco the same tender smile he often gave Molly. "I wanted to thank you."

"I didn't do anything," Draco retorted, not thinking that his failed attempt to catch Potter warranted appreciation. _I just sabotaged you_ , Draco thought, breathing thinly.

Potter looked briefly confused, but then he smiled again. "I was over a hundred feet in the air when I fell. I shouldn't have survived." He gave a glance at the sleeping Molly. "Dumbledore said that just before I crashed, someone cast a protection spell on me. A strong one. Based off a familial bond."

Draco stared blankly.

"It was you," Potter laughed.

For a moment, Draco was utterly confused. He furrowed his brows and mused on it. "Wandless magic," he sighed.

"That's amazing!"

"What I mean is accidental magic," Draco spat. "I have no control over it. In fact, I'm quite bad at it." _And it's juvenile_.

"Draco, you saved my life."

Draco swallowed the knot that had formed in throat. "Regretfully," he drawled. "Had I been aware of what I was doing, I certainly would not have done it."

Potter frowned.

Beside him, Molly was waking up, her usual grin replaced with a worried look. She sat up, still clinging to Potter's shirt. Draco's heart sunk as she buried herself under Potter's arm and Potter ruffled her already-messy hair.

Draco should have taken it as a cue to behave, but he felt too vulnerable, too gobsmacked. Under Potter's watchful eyes, he was completely exposed.

"It was fantastic, really," Draco went on. "Not only do you protect an opposing teammate after the game is already lost, you fall off your broom in the process."

Potter grimaced.

"Was Blaise mistaken when he told me that you could have beat me to the snitch if you weren't distracted by that bludger? Pathetic. For the umpteenth time we are _not_ togeth-" Draco caught himself. Molly was listening. She was upset as it was.

"I couldn't," said Potter, looking down. "The bludger-"

"You should have let it hit me," Draco stated the obvious.

"Then you would have been the one to fall off his broom," Potter bit back.

"You would have caught me," said Draco bitterly.

Potter looked surprised. His expression softened.

Draco went on, "Now it makes sense that I'm the one who becomes a professional Quidditch player in the future. Flying obviously presents an extraordinary safety hazard to you."

Potter sighed.

"What was this, your fifth fall Potter? Sixth? Why don't you just expedite your death-wish and go for a stroll into the forest without your wand."

Potter reddened and looked off. "One would almost think you cared."

Draco put on his best smirk. "Trust me. I don't."

Molly smiled slowly and haughtily, though Draco was doubtful that she understood most of the conversation. She just knew that Draco was mocking Potter. Somehow her amusement fueled him.

"I'm doubtful there isn't some residual brain damage, Potter. Tell me, does that contribute to your problems balancing on your broom? Does it explain your deplorable potion brewing? Your inability to comb your hair?"

Potter fists clenched, his face getting even redder. His temper was rising to the surface and he was about to explode.

In front of Molly, no less. That would ruin him. It would ruin _them_. Draco braced himself for the impact, for the destruction of this whole uncomfortable so-called family.

"Next time you see a bludger, Potter, leave it to the beaters. I know the intricacies of Quidditch roles can be taxing on that small brain of yours, so I'll explain them as simplistically as I can. _You_ are a seeker. Contrary to your demented beliefs, the seeker does not use his feeble body to shield opposing players from bludgers. Nor does the seeker merrily fling himself off his broom in celebration of the opposing team winning. In fact, the seeker's sole and singular purpose is to—"

Potter leaned over to kiss him lightly.

Dracos eyelids lowered slowly. It wasn't like Pansy or Blaise's kisses. Potter was too careful, meticulous, and polite. He was doing it wrong, Draco realized irritably.  
When it was over, they opened their eyes, glaring at each other benignly. Molly watched on, a sour look on her face. Draco and Potter remained together, foreheads touching.

And then Potter kissed him again.

Paranoid that Potter would topple off the bed, Draco sat on the edge of it, gripping Potter's shirt.

Potter was cruel. Depraved. This was entirely sadistic. What was worse was that Draco was kissing him back.

He kissed him _harder_ , forcing his way into Potter's mouth, until Potter released a small, undignified grunt.

And despite Draco's efforts, there was still the fogginess...the perfection...the twisting feeling in his chest as the kiss went on.

Draco wondered if this was what their relationship would be like. Potter continuously coaxing him further into the depths of emotional insanity. Try as he did, Draco could not remedy it. Not until there was a flash of bright light.

It gave them pause, both breathing, eyes lowered, and faces flushed. Whether it was due to lust or embarrassment, Draco did not want to look up.

"Harry? Harry! Is that your boyfriend, Harry? That's Draco Malfoy, isn't it, Harry? Molly's other parent? Your future spouse?"

"Yes," said Potter simply, his heated gaze not leaving Draco's.

Was that a yes to the last part, or a yes to all? Draco didn't want to know.

He abruptly pulled away and got off the bed, trying not to meet Potter's contemplative expression or Molly's pout. Instead he faced Granger, Weasley, that berk Collin Creevey with his camera in hand, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and what seemed like most of the Gryffindor sixth-years, all gaping, blushing, or trying not to laugh.

Despite being flustered, Draco trained his face into his Malfoy mask, shoved past the Gryffindors, and fled.


	6. Chapter 6

A substitute professor was filling in during Defense Against the Dark Arts that day, and the man looked as though he had narrowly escaped a Hungarian Horntail on the way to class.

Astonishingly enough, the haggard wizard could execute a perfect wolf patronus, and believed that as sixth-years, it was time for the class to start learning the patronus as well. Of course, Professor Larper—or whatever his name was—was quick to inform them that the patronus was an extremely difficult charm and that most full-grown wizards and witches never mastered it in their lifetimes. His eyes were on the Slytherins as he said this, and with an excessive amount of pity in his eyes.

Which left Draco standing in his corner, partnered with Blaise, as the two haphazardly attempted the charm.

Draco did not see the point of the charade. The patronus was an inferior spell. The Malfoys had always deemed the charm below them, and of no particular use. Of course, Malfoys also tended to find themselves incapable of creating patronuses, regardless of skill level. They were genetically too evil, or something along those lines. Father had explained the whole thing to Draco in great detail.

Draco continued to practice the spell with Blaise, both not really trying too hard, and not at all putting a great deal of effort into the charm whilst pretending not to. Every so often, professor Lecher would throw sad looks their way, then go back to helping Hufflepuffs who were doing rather well, in comparison.

"Expecto patronum!" Draco and Blaise were both shocked when a bluish shadow emerged from the tip of Draco's wand. It was an uncorporeal patronus.

Blaise frowned, as though Draco had done something strange and vulgar.

Draco ignored him and tried to remain focused. "Expecto…"

A happy memory…he needed a happy memory….

_When mother gave me a new house elf for my wing of the manor…_

"…patronum..." He produced another cloud of bluish fog, this one fainter than the last one. "Expecto…"

_When father didn't smite me for my A in Alchemy…_

"…patronum..." But now the fog was gone entirely. "Expecto…"

_When Snape humiliated Potter in Potions and questioned his literacy…_

"...patronum..." The uncorporeal patronus was back, now bigger, and shimmering. Blaise continued to watch. "Expecto..."

_When Potter slipped on Longbottom's toad and smashed his face against the Gryffindor table edge._

"...patronum!" Glittering silver escaped Draco's wand, with the faintest trace of shape. "Expecto..."

_Potter yelling. Potter throwing one of his Potter-tantrums, or having a Potter-meltdown, and screeching at his friends. The room temperature changing with Potters potent, tingling magic, and his green eyes bright with rage._

"...patronum!" What happened next was purely incidental. The silvery cloud twisted into form, and Draco found himself staring at a cat, its wary eyes gleaming sliver as it returned Draco's gaze. The cat walked on an invisible surface and circled Draco, lightly brushing on his robes. It then bowed its head and faded from existence.

Draco looked up to see that the rest of the class was still busily practicing, though Professor Lupert was staring at him in shock.

*

Blaise threw Draco an appraising look in the sixth-years dormitory that evening. "You need to stop avoiding the—"

"Elephant in the room?" said Goyle.

Draco and Blaise stared at Goyle with no comprehension of the reference.

"No," said Blaise. "The boggart in the trunk."

"What?"

"He's avoiding the boggart in his trunk," Blaise elaborated flatly. "He's been wearing my clothes all week."

"I _did_ notice you were looking rather seductive," said Millicent Bullstrode, who was lounging on Nott's bed for reasons beyond Draco's comprehension.

"I'm not avoiding it," Draco drawled as he fixed his—Blaise's—tie in the mirror. "I'm simply—"

Blaise kicked the trunk over, and Draco darted off so fast he tripped on Crabbe's toaster and fell down.

Bullstrode stared in horror as the boggart rounded on her. She got off the bed and tried to flee, but she froze in terror at the sight of a dashing…Harry Potter, smiling in adoration while offering her a bouquet of flowers.

Draco's cheek twitched.

Bullstrode's whole body was quavering. She raised her wand. "R-r-r- _riddikulus!_ "

Potter's head fell off and rolled away. The now-headless boggart staggered over to Blaise, who flattened himself against the wall as the creature's robes descended into a long black cloak, a hairless white head protruding out from them. The image of the Dark Lord cornered Blaise and the Italian didn't seem to be breathing. Draco discreetly crawled towards the door.

Nott suddenly strolled into the room. He froze and blanched at the sight before him, but somehow managed to raise his wand. _"Riddikulus!"_

The Dark Lord's skin became neon pink, causing even Crabbe to release a snort. Draco froze as the boggart rounded on him. It seemed to shrink in its cloak as it bowed its head and messy black hair sprouted from its scalp.

But the skin remained pallid. Sores and pustules emerged wherever it was exposed. Its flesh oozed blood and pus, looking blackened in places, and partially melted in others. Its body continued to atrophy, and soon some of its bones appeared through gaping openings in its decomposed flesh.

As the boggart looked up to reveal pale lips and emerald eyes, Draco's jaw dropped and chaos descended on the dorm.

_"Merlin!"_

"It's zombie-Potter!"

"Run! _Run!_ "

Crabbe and Goyle struggled to fit their massive bodies through the door simultaneously, though only managed to get themselves lodged there as zombie-Potter frothed about. Nott started climbing out the window, and Bullstrode collapsed in a dead faint.

Draco raised his wand. _"Riddikulus."_

Potter slipped on a toad and crashed face-first to the ground. He looked up, suddenly healthy, and glaring petulantly.

Draco glared back for a moment too long, before grabbing his bag and hurrying off after Nott.

*

"Are we not addressing the fact that your greatest fear is a zombie version of Harry Potter?" said Blaise aloofly.

"They're two things that disgust me combined. What doesn't make sense about it?" Draco responded neutrally.

Draco had somehow acquired an entourage of Slytherins while leaving Astrology that night. Molly had appeared as well, and was marching along, sneering with the others. Draco knew that he had only a small window of opportunity to dispel all the unsavory rumors about him and Potter. Irritatingly enough, his housemates had taken to interrogating him.

"Just admit it. You two are shagging."

" _Language_ , Nott," Draco warned.

"That was quite a display at the Quidditch match," Greengrass snarked.

"I wanted a good view of the impact."

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" said Molly snidely.

"I—what?" said Draco, momentarily thrown off.

"I heard you and Potter were making out in the hospital wing," said Pansy, grinning.

Draco made sure not to react except to curl his lips into a sneer. "I'm telling you, Parkinson, Potter practically threw himself at me. It was foul. I feel half inclined to meet with my solicitor and—" Draco felt his legs stop moving. At his flanks, the other Slytherins followed his gaze in confusion. Molly's face lit up.

"Oh, it's Specs!" she cried happily as she pointed at the black cat strolling by a suit of armor.

_Specs?_

At noticing them, the cat froze and darted off. For some reason, it seemed to be specifically avoiding Draco.

Draco grimaced. He didn't know why, but he shoved his backpack into Blaise's arms and chased after the thing. He was admittedly oblivious of what he meant to do once he caught it. Murdering it seemed the most logical course of action. Then maybe he could stop kissing half-bloods, patronusing felines, and envisioning Potter undead.

"Draco!" Pansy called.

The cat was following him, Draco was certain it was. It couldn't be coincidental that already twice, Draco had caught it lurking around. Draco intended to get answers—though he wasn't entirely sure how. What was the significance of the black cat? How was it connected to Draco? Why did Draco's future-self coddle it so shamelessly? And since when was he a cat person, anyway?

Weren't black cats unlucky? Indicative of bad things to come? Draco supposed it made sense. He was going to end up with _Potter_ , after all.

Perhaps he was finally just cracking under the stress of the last few days, but Draco soon found himself racing across the castle lawns towards the edge of the forest as the cat became nearly impossible to spot within the surrounding darkness. "Specs!" he snarled, his robes flying. He leapt over one of Hagrid's pumpkins as he approached the gamekeeper's shack. How did this cat tie into all the horrendous stuff going on with Potter? How would Draco end up deciding to adopt the foul thing?

The cat abruptly digressed from its route to the forest, instead diving behind Hagrid's shanty. Draco sharply turned the corner, and would have crashed into another teenager had the person not preemptively caught his wrists, halting him.

"What's going on?"

Draco stared back at Potter. The idiot was stronger than he looked. Draco tore his wrists from Potter's tight grip, instead looking around for the cat, but it had disappeared.

Draco's eyes returned to Potter. "Why are you out of the hospital?" he said irritably. Wrinkling his nose, Draco lifted his boot from some squashed tomatoes. He had chased the cat right into Hagrid's garden.

"I'm fine," said Potter. "I was discharged."

Draco incredulously looked down at Potter's hospital wing pajamas and bare feet.

"Okay, so I needed a breather." Potter smiled guiltily.

Draco was rather intrigued that Potter had managed to slip by the anally retentive Madame Pomfrey. "Why are you so dirty?" he said in disgust as he took in Potter's muddied hands and feet. He absently looked for injury past the grime.

Potter released an awkward chuckle. "Long story. But what are you doing out here? It's past midnight."

"Not that it's any of _your_ business, Potter, but I'm looking for my cat."

"Your cat?" There was amusement in Potter's eyes.

Draco glowered.

"Just didn't peg you as the cat-type. So what did it look like? Fluffy? Dark? Handsome?"

As Draco narrowed his eyes, Potter's cheeks reddened.

"That was...erm...me in my animagi form," Potter said.

Draco blanched. "What?" He said blankly, suddenly dazed. Potter was the cat. The cat from the photo, clutched against future-Draco's chest. The one that followed Draco around Hogwarts. Potter!

Draco belatedly noticed that his jaw was hanging slack. He closed it, his own cheeks heating up. His patronus...Potter could never find out. "Why have you been stalking me?" he snapped.

Potter evaded, "Why were you chasing me?"

Rather than responding, Draco absently examined Potter's face. He pulled back Potter's hair in his continued search for injury. He seemed fine...aside from his frustrating tendency to prompt questions rather than supply answers. "You told me about your animagus form," said Draco absently. Such a thing was deeply personal to a wizard.

"I thought you should know." Potter smiled as he gripped Draco's robes. " _Your_ cat, huh?"

Draco scowled and tried to walk off, but Potter pulled him back, and suddenly they were kissing.

"Potter," Draco groaned on chapped lips.

"Harry," Potter encouraged.

But it was too familiar. They weren't friends. They weren't dating.

"I don't want to freak you out," said Potter, grinning against his lips, "but I'm so excited to be with you."

By impulse, Draco suddenly wanted to get away. Potter was taking this far too seriously.

But Potter's arms were wrapped around him, making the concept of retreat futile, so why bother? Draco lightly bit Potter's bottom lip as the brunette pulled away, but he didn't stray far. Kisses trailed up Draco's jaw line to his ear, causing him to shiver.

"Draco? Draco! Where did he—oh." Pansy's face fell.

"Do we need a hose for you two?" said Blaise impassively.

Draco and Potter ignored them until a third voice cut in.

"Dad? Father?"

They paused.

"Molly," said Potter with a sheepish smile, finally unwrapping Draco from his arms.

Draco roughly pushed Potter away from him, causing him to collapse on Hagrid's remaining good tomatoes.

 _Sodding Potter_ , Draco thought in lividity. How dare he jump him again—how dare he look all disoriented and sexy sprawled there on the ground. Draco unconsciously started forward when two pairs of hands grasped the back of his robes.

"I don't think so," said Pansy, as she and Blaise dragged Draco away.

*

Draco felt out of it at breakfast the next morning. At first he told himself that it was fatigue, but it was more of an internal struggle. Everything seemed to be pushing him towards Potter. Every part of his being wanted to gravitate to the prat. It was disorienting, and it was going to get him into trouble.

"I've never seen him like this before," said Pansy with a striking lack of concern, speaking about Draco as though he wasn't sitting there.

"He must really like him," noted Blaise, buttering some toast.

Goyle chuckled stupidly.

Draco blinked out of his reverie. "No I don't," he spat. He caught Pansy's hand as it reached for his cheek. "Don't touch me!"

His friends looked at him in shock.

"I mean..." Drack awkwardly cleared throat.

"Oh?" A grin spread over Pansy's features. "Are the two of you exclusive now?" she mocked, and was rewarded with more of Crabbe and Goyle's idiotic chuckles.

Draco swallowed. "Potter is a disgrace. Less than nothing…human garbage…moldy cabbage…wonder-nerd." Draco paused. "I'm going to study." He abruptly got up and started off, but returned, and grabbed Molly. Then he swiftly left the Great Hall, dodging more questions until he had exited the large oak double doors.

Draco didn't know why he eventually ended up at the hospital wing. _It's for Molly_ , he told himself. She was due for a visit. That was all.

Draco walked into the hospital wing, Molly stumbling behind him as she balanced a large box. He stalked over to the only occupied bed in the room. 

Potter looked up. "Draco." 

The room warmed unnaturally and wonderfully. It sent tingles down his spine. Draco shuddered. His eyes rolled upwards, and he collapsed face-first on the bed, unconscious. 

He came to a moment later to Potter's panicked yammering, "Draco! Draco! What's wrong with him, Molly?"

Draco found himself slumped down, partially on Potter legs. He quickly got up as though nothing had occurred. "Much as I despise being here, Molly wanted to—" 

"What just happened?" 

Draco bit his lip, but then adopted an apathetic expression. "You're being overzealous with your magic," he admonished smoothly. "And I'm sensitive to it right now." 

"Why?" Potter entreated. 

"It's an enigma," Draco deadpanned, not meeting Potter's eyes. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" 

Ignoring him, Draco retrieved the box from Molly's arms and shoved it into Potter's chest. "I brought your clothes," he said curtly. 

Potter's stupid face lit up. He began to happily dig through the box, but abruptly stopped, looking confused. "These aren't my things." He gave Draco an odd look. 

"Yes well yours are too old and decrepit, aren't they?" 

Potter stared. 

"How often do you replace your school robes?" said Draco. 

"Whenever I get taller." 

"Not often then."

Potter scowled. "Draco..." 

Draco absently smoothed Potter's hair again. It was soft, but stubborn. It wouldn't do. Draco mused on some spells that might help.

"…fixed my vision…" Potter was mumbling. "…upgraded my wardrobe…" 

Draco gave the messy hair a gentle tug, enjoying as Potter's cheeks reddened. He was inexperienced. It was pathetic. 

"Some would say you're grooming me," Potter finished, slyly. 

"What?" 

"To be your husband." 

Draco stiffened. He dropped his hand from Potter's hair. 

"I don't mind. I think it's cute." Potter examined one of the new robes. 

"You're out of your mind, Potter," said Draco coldly. "I can hardly stand you." 

"Then what are you doing here?" Potter looked up, raising a brow. 

"Making sure you don't tip out the window trying to save a spider from a fly." 

"I'm not that reckless." 

"You're an imbecile." 

Potter bristled. "You're cold and callous. Worse, you're a follower." 

He struck a nerve. "You're an idiotic martyr." 

"You're weak." 

"I'm going to kill you," Draco promised, pulling out his wand. Before he could start casting unforgiveables, Potter grabbed Draco's wrist, and soon they were struggling for control. Sparks shot from the end of Draco's wand, bouncing off walls and smashing into light fixtures. 

Madame Pomfrey stormed into the room. "Enough!" she snapped, casting a spell that slammed Harry down against his mattress, and sent Draco careening into the parallel bed, the momentum causing him to spiral over it and onto the floor with an undignified "oof!" 

"I will not have your domestic disputes destroying my wing!" she said as she irritably repaired some shattered lightbulbs. 

Both boys reddened. 

Draco started, "It wasn't—" 

"Mr. Malfoy, I must ask you to kindly excuse yourself. Mr. Potter, you are fully recovered, so you can leave as well. _Please_." She gave them both a sharp look and returned to her office.

Fuming, Draco swept off, but not before discreetly hexing the floor slippery. He watched as Potter climbed off his bed, but caught himself from falling. Outraged, Draco stormed off.

* 

After leaving the hospital, Harry found Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, and the first thing he did was tell them about Draco's odd and brief fainting spell. 

Hermione thought for a long moment, wearing a bemused expression. "It sounds like love, Harry." 

"What!?" said Harry in alarm. 

"Well, he's opened his magic to you, consciously or not. Your magic is reacting—and quite aggressively, it seems. You'll try to be more gentle, won't you?" 

Harry went beet red. "So he really likes me…" he mused. 

"Well, his magic does."

"So does, I think, his body." Harry reddened more, though couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face.

"Merlin!" said Ron. "Too much information, mate." He shook his head. "You and Malfoy. I still don't get it." 

"I don't either," Harry admitted. "It's like Molly opened this barrier between us and suddenly I can't stop seeing him in that way. The feelings are there, but I have no clue where they would have come from if Molly hadn't sort of, triggered them, I guess." 

"That doesn't make them any less valid, Harry," said Hermione. 

Harry nodded absently. "And suddenly I'm seeing sides of Draco I've never noticed before. You know, paying attention to him in a positive way. My biases kind of did a 180. I find myself excusing things. And he's been so gentle and patient with Molly. He's still an arse, but almost... _nicer_ to me." 

"Mate the other day he tried to strangle you," said Ron. 

"It's different, Ron!" Harry flushed. "You didn't see the way he touched my hair or when he fixed my eyes." 

"At the risk of blinding you." Hermione clucked disapprovingly. 

"Bloody hell!" said Ron. 

"Like we haven't taken risks!" said Harry. 

"But what were the stakes, mate? You wearing glasses?" 

"He didn't like them." 

"Sounds like high stakes to me." 

"Yeah." Harry missed Ron's sarcasm. "And the sooner we get things started, the sooner I can stop feeling..." 

"Anxious?" said Hermione. "Oh Harry. You're worried." 

"It's Draco Malfoy. Can you blame me?" 

"No," said Hermione, her brows furrowed. "I suppose it can't be helped. You both know too much about your futures." 

"What if I keep pushing him away?" said Harry, abashed. "What if he won't be with me? He's my family. I mean…that's what we're supposed to be." 

"He fixed your eyes," said Ron. "Gave you new clothes." 

"Sealed you with a protection spell," Hermione added. "And you said it yourself—he's crazy about Molly. They're always together. And now he's opened his magic to you. Does it really look like he's going anywhere?" 

Harry looked off and bit his lip. 

"Oh, you dolt." Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him off. 

* 

_Stupid Potter...and cats...cat patronuses...zombie bastard..._

It had been a long day. Draco had attempted to study his Runes textbook but instead found himself immersed in a staring contest with Molly. He had been scrutinizing her. She had been peering back at him, a suspicious look on her face. Before Draco knew it, Molly was going in and out of focus. 

He was submerged in something that didn't feel like sleep, and he saw himself, _Draco_ , but he looked different somehow. His hair was slightly longer, his features softer, and weary. There were shadows beneath his eyes. Rather than his Malfoy-mask his face was nothing but emotion. He looked weary and miserable, his knees drawn up to chest and face bowed against them in his robes. 

And future-Draco thought, _Dammit...where is she?_

"She's right here," Draco murmured sleepily. He blinked awake and lifted his face from his textbook to see Molly looking at him, now in amusement. Falling asleep in the library was not very Malfoy-like at all. 

Draco looked up and was equal parts surprised and disturbed to see Granger standing before his table, glaring at him. 

"There you are," she said, her eyes narrowed. 

"'The hell do you want?" Draco stood. He preemptively moved his hand towards his wand. 

Granger seemed to contemplate for a moment before coming to a decision. "I'm taking Molly," she said abruptly, lifting the child in question, who squealed in delight. "You won't see her again for a while. I'm going to teach her to churn butter and file taxes and other muggle things." With that, Granger spun on her heel and hurried off with Molly in tow. 

Draco was gobsmacked. "The hell you are!" he snapped, ignoring Madame Pince's disapproving expression as he hurried after Granger. The Know-It-All proceeded to power-walk through the school, throwing odd glances back at him every now and then. 

Draco grimaced and shouted things like: 

"Granger don't make me—!" 

"What the hell are you...?" 

"Molly?" 

Granger was as deluded as she was determined. She swung the giggling five-year-old out of his reach every time he tried to make a snatch for her. He matched Granger's pace as she took to a run. _Be careful!_

Draco entirely neglected the fact that Granger was using Molly as human-bait. She abruptly stopped in a corridor where they were met with a fidgeting Potter who looked as though he wanted to bolt, as well as a wary Weasley who seemed both amused and concerned. 

"What the hell is going on?" said Draco venomously. Was this an ambush? Despite it, he again reached for Molly, but Granger swung her away at the last minute. Draco nearly fell over from the momentum of his combined desperation and incompetence. It was like some dormant protective instincts had kicked in, and Draco keenly didn't want to find out what Granger intended to teach Molly about muggles and butter. 

Granger handed Molly to Weasley, and Draco didn't know if it was better or worse. Then Granger started pacing like a maniac. She was completely unhinged! A door appeared, then Granger grinned and laid her hands on him. Draco was so disoriented, he could hardly react as he was shoved through the door. Granger hurried back to the corridor then dragged Potter in by the scruff. 

"Sort out your feelings," she crowed. "Hate, love, revulsion, whatever it is!" 

It was only then that Draco realized where he had been taken.

The Room of Hidden Things was decidedly...different, today, than how Draco had ever seen it. It was comfortably warm, a large fire crackling under an ivory mantle. The room was all dark tones and flickering firelight, a few dozen candles littering the air and sparkling throughout it. There was a plush throw rug in front of the fire on the hardwood floor, and a slow tune by the Weird Sisters was playing faintly in the background. 

"What the hell Granger, you pervert!" Draco snarled. 

"H-Hermione?" Potter stammered. 

"I wanted somewhere that you two could talk!" said Granger defensively.

Potter and Draco gave her doubtful looks. 

"Get on with it then!" Granger backed away and closed the door on herself, the corridor, and Weasley's morbidly curious face. And then, to Draco's horror, the door faded from existence, seeming to meld with the wall. 

Draco resisted the urge to strangle Potter, if just because he suspected the brunette would find it enjoyable. _Stupid peasant half-blood deranged garbage-eating..._

"So..." Potter's voice cut through the silence. 

Potter looked less appalling than usual in his new robes. 

"We're going to get together," said Potter, rather emphatically. He looked around and blushed. "Not now! But...eventually." 

"That's subjective," said Draco. 

Potter's face fell, but he recovered smoothly. "It's fairly clear..." he said gently, _pointedly_. 

"I don't appreciate your presumptions, Potter." 

"Fine. But we're going to shag," said Potter. 

Draco opened and closed his mouth. He had no counter for that. 

Potter smiled ruefully. He looked like he _couldn't believe_ that they were making what he thought to be progress. "And we're going to..." 

"Have babies," Draco spat bitterly. 

"Babies?" said Potter brightly. 

" _A_ baby," Draco corrected himself. 

Potter nodded. "I wouldn't be opposed to having more," he said offhandedly. He seemed pleasantly keen about this family thing. 

Draco was startled. "Fuck you." 

"I mean, eventually." 

Draco gave him a rude hand gesture. 

Potter rolled his eyes and smiled. "No, seriously. I always wanted a big family. And it would hardly seem to inconvenience you. In the future, you're gallivanting about being a pro-Quidditch player. And I'm, what, a stay-at-home dad?" 

Draco looked away. 

"You know, I think I'll do it!" said Potter, smacking his fist into his palm decisively. 

Draco's eyes snapped up. "And I have no say?" he said sarcastically. 

Potter shrugged. "I'll convince you. I probably do all the work anyway, being your house-husband and all." 

Draco snickered at the notion, but then abruptly stopped. "Auror," he said blankly. Potter's job was important. More important than Quidditch. 

"What? Auror?" Potter's eyes were wide. "I am? How could you know that?" 

"Molly's newspaper," said Draco tartly. 

"What? Where is it?" 

"I destroyed it." 

"You— _destroyed?_ Why? What else did it say!?" Potter approached until he was standing right in front of him. 

"Nothing," said Draco shadily. 

"What do you mean, nothing? What did it say about the war? And—and—" 

"You know you shouldn't ask." 

Potter gawked at the blatant hypocrisy. "This changes everything." Now his mind was turning. Shock became delight at the concept of achieving his career goal. "How do I manage it all?" 

Draco muttered some obscenities under his breath. 

Potter grimaced. "What are you on about? It seems like you've got a good deal. You're a pro-Quidditch player, I'm an Auror, and…oh." 

_Fuck no_. Potter was finally connecting the dots. 

"Our jobs...um...I'm not the one who gets pregnant, am I?" 

Draco's body tensed. "What would make you think that?" he said in a steady voice. 

"Well Quidditch has off seasons," said Potter, like that fully explained his theory. 

Draco glared and Potter nervously elaborated. 

"And as an Auror, I'd have a lot of enemies. The baby would be safest with—" 

"Shut up," Draco cut in. 

Potter's lip twitched. "Then there's the fact that when we, um, touch, you seem more inclined to...receiving—" 

Potter was flung backwards as Draco's spell hit him square on the chest. Potter groaned as he sat up, then just managed to avoid a stunning spell. 

A side-turned table materialized from nowhere and Potter dove behind it. The imbecile would have done better to require a brick wall. 

Potter pulled out his wand, and soon hexes were flying back and forth across the room. It must have been one of their shows of magical aggression that Molly seemed so fond of. 

Draco gasped as he was struck by _flipendo_ , and knocked back, but not before he hit Potter with _locomotor mortis_. Potter's legs locked together, and he tried in vain to hop away. 

In the meantime, Draco conjured a dozen white birds that pecked at Potter with sharp beaks as the brunette awkwardly flailed. Getting frustrated, Potter turned and started hopping towards Draco, just as Draco had climbed back to his feet. The two crashed, and Draco braced himself for another impact with the ground. 

But instead of the floor, they fell back on an incredibly soft…bed? Draco's gaze shifted to red satin sheets. His face colored as he acknowledged the intimacy of their position. "Potter, get off me." 

"I—can't." Potter squirmed clumsily. 

Draco cursed under his breath, waved his wand, and released the leg-lock jinx. 

Potter climbed up, now straddling him. Draco sat up as well, and then they made the mistake of meeting eyes. 

Their noses touched, then their lips. They kissed. In fact, they couldn't stop kissing, and there was no one there to intervene. Draco felt himself sink as he gripped Potter's robes. He wrenched it off Potter's shoulders, and ran his fingers over Potter's lean build. It was good. So fucking good. Potter grinded his hips against his. 

"Potter..." Draco managed a shuddering breath as he noticed that the door had reappeared. 

"Mm?" Potter idly nipped the sensitive skin of Draco's throat. 

"Get off!" 

Potter froze. "R-right." Potter pulled away, looking rather pained. 

Draco climbed off the bed, adjusted his robes, then sauntered off and directly into the nearest bathroom. 

* 

An hour later, Draco stood in his dormitory and straightened his robes for the umpteenth time. He had cleansed himself of all traces of Potter, and yet he still felt contaminated. 

Draco eyed the light bruise above his collar bone. _I'll get him back for that._

There was a tapping noise on glass, which led Draco's attention to one of the school barn owls. Draco walked to the window, opened it, and untied the small note attached to the owl's leg. A quick glance at the parchment told him he was being summoned to the headmaster's office. "Meeting with Dumbledore," he said. 

Molly looked up from where she had been furiously scribbling in Draco's History of Magic textbook with some crayons that Granger had given her. "Oh, okay." She grinned and hopped down from the chair. 

Draco reached for the doorknob and hesitated. "How did things go with Granger and Weasley?" 

"Who?" 

"Uncle...Ron and Aunt...Hermione?" 

"Oh it was fun!" 

"Mm." Draco refrained from asking for elaboration. It was probably best that he didn't know. 

Minutes later the two were in Dumbledore's office, where Potter was present and waiting anxiously in a chair before the desk. Not catching the brunette's eyes once, Draco took the seat farthest from him. Molly sat between them, happily swinging her feet. 

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Dumbledore greeted with an eerie twinkle of his eyes. On his desk sat a large basin with a silvery substance filled nearly to the top. "In light of the lack of progress in returning Miss Potter to her proper place in time, I propose we try to determine exactly what it was that sent her here. This is very unorthodox, however—with your mutual consent, I would like to extract some of Miss Potter's memories." 

As Harry chewed his bottom lip, Draco swallowed. His gaze returned to the pensieve.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was reacquainted with that unpleasant sensation of falling through the pensieve, and suddenly he was standing in a grassy field. He looked around, but the memory did not seem to disclose any details of where he was.

"Potter," a voice greeted curtly, and Harry turned to his left, to see Draco standing beside him, his arms crossed.

"Glad to see you made it." Harry grinned humorlessly, still not over the Room of Requirement incident.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

Harry turned to his right to see that the headmaster was keenly observing the other occupants—the memories—within the field.

Silently, Harry directed his eyes to the scene.

His jaw dropped when he spotted Draco—future-Draco—with his copacetic, less-haughty demeanor. He was not the Cannons player from the cover of Molly's prophet. Here, he seemed rather…domestic.

Future-Draco kneeled down to a slightly younger version of Molly. "You have to promise not to be reckless," he warned, all longish hair and shimmering elegance. Future-Draco was gorgeous—absolutely stunning. A few blonde curls hung in his face, not sleeked back, but soft, and bright, and shining. His robes were a deep green, and fit him perfectly. His lips twisted into a mischievous smirk, and Harry realized how much he looked like Molly, as the child in question returned the very same look. They might as well have exchanged a wink. No good could come from such an alliance.

Future-Draco finally handed over a childrens' broom, and Molly immediately mounted it. She kicked off and whizzed off, her toes mere inches from the grass.

Future-Draco straightened, and walked a few feet away. It was only then that Harry noticed his own future counterpart, looking rather edgy as he peered after Molly.

"She'll be fine," teen-Harry just made out Future-Draco's words. It became oddly difficult to maintain focus on the adults beyond the brightness of the broom, Molly's erratic maneuvers, and bizarre sound-effects. It was clear that her parents were merely the background of her memory.

Harry's counterpart nodded tensely. "Yeah…" teen-Harry read the man's lips.

Future-Draco smirked, leaned over, and grabbed future-Harry's collar. And then, out of nowhere, they started—kissing.

With a blush, teen-Harry returned his attention to Molly.

The scene dissolved, and Harry felt the sensation of falling upwards. Soon he landed back in the headmaster's office, blinking around at a frowning Dumbledore, and at Draco, who met Harry's eyes and seemed to wince.

His heart pounding, Harry blushed and looked away. He discreetly adjusted his robes, and tried to get the seductive-looking future-Draco out of his head. His stomach fluttered. He might have been in love or something.

Harry noticed teen-Draco eying him suspiciously. Teen-Draco suddenly looked dull and lackluster in comparison to his counterpart. Harry squirmed guiltily.

"Now Miss Potter," Dumbledore directed his attention to their future-daughter. "That was not the memory that we asked you to provide," he reprimanded her mildly.

Molly twisted her face stubbornly. "But I wanted you to see my broom!" She stomped her foot in the way Harry imagined any child of Draco would.

"And you flew it well, Miss Potter. But we need for you to _focus_." Dumbledore had discreetly taken a step back.

Her face screwed up in thought, as though she had a momentous decision to deliberate upon, Molly finally sighed and nodded.

"Focus," Dumbledore encouraged, as he placed his wand against Molly's temple, and gently extracted a new chord of memory. He carefully lowered it into the basin, and swirled it around with his wand. "Mr. Potter, after you."

Taking a deep breath, Harry again bowed to the desk, and plunged his face into the bowl.

This time he found himself standing against the paneled wall of a large cozy living room. Harry blinked around the house. He was certain that he had never been there before, and yet it seemed vaguely familiar. Harry turned to the memories occupying the room, barely paying attention as Draco and Dumbledore arrived beside him.

Again, a past-version of Molly stood before them, perhaps only a few months younger than she was at present. She was playing with a stuffed wolf and a stuffed dragon. The creatures were either embroiled in a violent battle or having a feisty make-out session.

Future-Harry strolled in, his muggle tank-top revealing gently muscled arms that made teen-Harry grin.

"Molly," said future-Harry wearily. "Can you get your brother?"

"Brother!?" Harry and Draco snapped in unison.

They were left, obviously ignored, as Molly dropped her toys and ran off into an adjacent room.

As the memory continued, Molly hurried into an extraordinarily messy bedroom. It was cluttered with toys and clothes, and there was a large tank with a Grindylow perched on the dresser. Every inch of the walls were covered in posters—the room's owner was apparently conflicted in their loyalties between the Chudley Cannons and the Vratsa Vultures. It took Harry several moments to spot the young boy seated cross-legged on the carpeted floor beside a large, brown, sleeping canine. The child and the dog were surrounded by chocolate wrappers, as the boy fumbled with what looked like a muggle remote.

The boy was skinny, and couldn't have been over eight years old. He was wearing muggle shorts and a T-shirt, and biting his lip in concentration. Harry realized that the child was playing video games on a muted flat-screen television hanging on the opposite wall. As Harry scrutinized the boy, he belatedly noticed that he had—dog ears protruding from the top of his head, and a wagging tail behind him! In fact, he released a snarling noise as he continued to aggressively push buttons on the controller.

"Teddy!" said Molly.

The boy— _Teddy_ —didn't even look up. "Go awa—" He yelped as Molly grabbed his foot and began to drag him off. "Arrgh! Stop! Stop it Moll!" he shouted, as he was dragged backwards across the carpeted floor to the living room. When Molly finally released him, he blinked up at future-Harry.

"Finished your homework, Teddy?"

Teen-Harry scrutinized Teddy's wolfish smile.

"Of course he did," a new voice drawled. Future-Draco walked in fully dressed in his Cannons Quidditch robes. His voice was cool, his demeanor indifferent, and hair sleek. He wasn't the glittering spouse from before. How did he switch so easily?

"I helped him this morning," said Draco nonchalantly.

Teen-Draco released a snort, and teen-Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Teddy and future-Draco in fact had _not_ attended to Teddy's homework that morning.

"Yeah." Teddy's smile was more of a grimace, as though he was wracked with guilt for his deception. His hair went from brown to white blonde as his dog-features melted away. Teddy hurried off as future-Harry frowned, and Molly chased after the other child.

As the scene moved back to Teddy's bedroom—Molly yammering as Teddy did his best to ignore her—teen-Harry found his eyes drifting to the opening in the doorway.

"Those kids," said future-Harry, his voice muffled. He sighed as he lifted one of Molly's stuffed animals from the floor.

Back in the messy bedroom, Teddy reddened, and began to yammer over Molly, effectively creating a shouting match. The remainder of future-Harry and future-Draco's conversation was drowned out as the two children squabbled and began to physically fight over the controller. Molly was winning.

But through the opening in the door, future-Draco walked over to future-Harry and muttered something. Soon they were wrapped around each other, future-Draco's hand reaching down and disappearing behind future-Harry's hip.

When the scene dissolved, and the spectators were thrown back into Dumbledore's office, Harry went pink. _Did Draco just grab my ass?_ He snuck a glance at the other sixth-year beside him, but Draco refused to meet his eyes.

Harry could not blame him. It seemed that their future relations were getting harder—well, _impossible_ —to deny by that point. Harry himself didn't know whether he wanted to laugh of hide away somewhere. It was all quite overwhelming. Even— _violating_.

"But I wanted to see Teddy!" Molly was complaining.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore responded calmly. "You really _must_ focus. This is _very_ important. Think of the last things that happened to you just before you ended up here. You will be reunited with your—brother—soon enough."

"Okay, okay!" said Molly, squeezing her eyes shut.

Harry was not feeling optimistic as Dumbledore again lifted the point of his wand to Molly's temple and extracted yet another memory.

They were getting nowhere with this, and yet they tried again and again. Harry had the feeling that this could take all night. Harry allowed himself to be plunged into the next memory.

This time Molly was hurrying over to the living room fireplace. It seemed like another recent event. Then again, she was five, and there probably wasn't much a child could remember before that age.

"Dad!" said Molly.

"Hey." Future-Harry's grinning head sat in the flames. "I just made it to Azkaban. How is everything going with you kids?"

"When will you be back?" said Molly.

"No longer than a week, love. Hopefully sooner. There's a good amount of work to be done here." Future-Harry seemed to glance around the living room. "Where's father?"

Molly frowned. "He left."

"Oh? Where did he go?"

Molly shrugged. "I don't know. He got upset and said he was leaving."

Future-Harry's face fell. "H-he— _what?_ "

"And also, Misses Buttercup is angry at Princess Sparkles." Molly held up two stuffed animals—a snake and a cat.

"Where did father go?" said future-Harry tightly.

"Far, far away." Molly raised her arms for emphasis, her toys tumbling to the ground. "He was so grumpy! He took all his things."

Future-Harry's eyes went wide. "His t-things—?" he stammered as Molly nodded enthusiastically. Even in the flames, the man looked paler. He swallowed. "And father didn't say anything about where he was going? Or what he was upset about?"

"He was upset about you!"

Future-Harry sputtered.

"I miss you daddy."

The auror seemed to gather his composure. "I miss you too. I know I've been busy these past few months... After this assignment, I'll make it up to you, I promise. You know I love you guys."

Molly nodded.

"Who's...um...keeping an eye on you?"

"Aunt Pansy. She's burning things." Molly pointed towards the kitchen.

"Right. Um…I'll call her there. See you soon, love."

"Bye daddy. I love you."

As Molly sat down, her focus shifting back to her stuffed toys, future-Harry's smile fell. The fire died down as he disappeared. And then the scene dissolved.

There was an uncomfortable silence in Dumbledore's office as the occupants processed what had occurred.

"You...you left me!?" said Harry, part horrified and part enraged.

The stunned expression disappeared from Draco's face. "I could hardly blame myself!" he snarled. "I made some questionable life decisions after all."

"You left our kids!"

Draco sputtered. "I'm tired of having to defend myself for things I haven't even done yet!" he squawked, flailing arms the way Molly might during a tantrum.

Harry could see nothing but red. "You Slytherin piece of—"

"I think we're due for a break," Dumbledore loudly interjected. He looked sternly at the two teenagers before his desk. "Those memories were very curious, indeed. But I must insist that you refrain from calling each other crude names. Those were a _child's_ memories. You should have no expectation of accuracy."

Draco sagged, but Harry's tension would not subside.

"Why don't you head off to your common rooms?" Dumbledore continued. "I would like to ruminate on some things, myself. We will resume this tomorrow."

*

Draco was **livid**. The _nerve_ of Potter! Draco buried his frustrations in homework—specifically a potions project he was supposed to be doing with Blaise and Pansy. Setting up in the Slytherin common room, Draco worked all night, with no regard for collaboration. He tried not to think about the boy with the dog ears and the horrendously messy bedroom. He refused to muse on the fire-call, or future-Draco's apparent departure. Instead, he sliced and diced furiously at ingredients, imagining every clove or doxy to be Potter's genitals. He tipped the ingredients into his cauldron, his brewing impeccable as always. He was finished by morning, by which point a small gaggle of sleepy Slytherins surrounded him, each eyeing him in concern.

"There," Draco hissed, wiping some sweat from his brow. "Done."

It was an Honesty Serum. A subset of Veritaserum, but far less dangerous. This potion made the drinker more inclined to tell the truth—though it was not infallible. A strong-willed individual could easily contort things, if just enough to protect information.

"Now just to test it," said Draco, glowering up at Blaise and Pansy from his place on the ground. Molly had wandered over as well, and was giving Draco the same incredulous look that his friends were. The, _have-you-gone-mental?_ look.

"Were you up all night?" said Pansy.

"That potion is supposed to take a week," noted Nott.

"There's no way I'm touching that," said Blaise flatly.

Draco sneered at them. "Fine then." He lifted the ladle and gulped down a full serving of the thick purple fluid. Somehow he refrained from gagging, before he returned his attention to his friends. "Go ahead. Ask me my favorite color, or—"

"What's your relationship to Harry Potter?" said Blaise immediately.

Draco's eyes widened. There were sharp gasps from the surrounding students. Draco tried his best to clamp his mouth shut, but he found himself mumbling indecipherably.

"What was that?" said Blaise.

Draco was physically— _struggling_ —against his compulsion to respond. But he lost. "He's my boyfriend," Draco said aloofly. He reddened and covered his mouth in shock.

Every jaw in the room dropped. Draco's classmates gawked at him for a full minute.

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed. "Is Potter aware of this?"

Draco's left hand lifted of its own accord to peel his right hand away from his mouth. "Not necessarily."

"So it's not official," said Pansy.

"It's official," said Draco emphatically.

Expressions flickered between amusement and alarm.

"You sick fuck," Blaise smirked as Draco reddened more.

Pansy was grinning. "You know he's not a commodity. You can't just claim ownership of him, you demented little tosser."

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Molly cut him off.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" she wanted to know.

Draco gave an exaggerated grimace. "Malfoys do not consume—it's strawberry," he said in defeat.

"Where were you the night of October 12, 1993?" said Greengrass.

"I don't know."

"What happened to my favorite socks?" said Goyle.

"I used them for—for personal things."

Goyle blinked stupidly.

"Malfoy, have you ever thought about the two of us?" said Bullstrode. "Romantically?"

Draco got up and fled.


	8. Chapter 8

_Harry withdrew his head from the fire place, and as he straightened, he brushed soot off his auror robes. He stood in the quarters provided to ministry workers, solicitors, and other visitors of Azkaban. The walls were of a cool jagged stone, the rug and furniture failing to supplement the starkness of the environment. Harry's breath expelled as fog now, and his green eyes donned a cloudy look. He knew that the environment was affecting him, and he tried his best not to think of anything negative. It was a difficult task, considering the information he had just been given…considering the fact that Draco had just…_

_Harry tried to draw up happy thoughts, but they kept slipping away._

I'm getting too emotional, _Harry determined, wrapping his arms around himself, and trying to clear his mind. As he felt his body begin to sway, he knew that he had to get away until he collected his composure. He needed to head for the apparition zone._

_Harry began to walk towards his door, mentally trying to map out the maze of passageways that made up the prison. Of course, he could get himself a dementor as an escort. He snorted at the concept, as it would probably cause more damage than good._

_There was screaming in his head now. Frenzied words he couldn't make out. His eyelids could hardly lift now, and Harry wasn't sure when they had sunk. His knees resigning, he felt himself beginning to fall._

_But rather than connecting with the floor, he felt himself captured in someone's arms. They wrapped around him and held him up. Harry trembled slightly as he buried his face against fine robes. He wearily turned his head, and felt his nose brush on soft hair, a smooth neck, and a familiar pulse. His eyelids still felt heavy, but some of the fogginess had dispersed. He could feel his strength returning. "Draco?" he managed._

_"I'm here."_

_"You're here," Harry echoed, as warmth flooded him, tangible warmth that restored his strength. He embraced Draco fiercely, causing a surprised noise to escape the blonde's throat. But then Draco relaxed, and stroked Harry's hair, in the idle way he tended to. They remained like that for a while, until Lily's screams faded out._

_Harry pulled back. "What are you doing here?" he said abruptly. He gave his husband an appraising look. "Are you okay?"_

_"I couldn't be better," said Draco neutrally._

_Harry could tell that he wasn't lying. Draco looked peaceful, if not content. It didn't seem that the dementors had affected him in the least._

_Harry swallowed. "Me too," he realized. Draco was his persisting, happy memory. "Molly said you were upset with me."_

_Draco raised a blonde brow. Like his lashes, they were a shade darker than his hair. "I wasn't upset with you. I admit, I was…apprehensive about you staying here." He glanced away._

_It was Harry's turn to raise a brow._ "Apprehensive, _were you?"_

_"Shut. Up."_

_Again they found each other's arms._

_Harry grinned. "I was fine," he assured, though he could feel himself blush. "Aurors are trained for dementor tolerance."_

_"Of course," said Draco aloofly. Neither addressed the fact that Harry had been on the verge of fainting a moment before._

_"I'm fine," Harry repeated stubbornly._

_"I know you are, I just…" Draco trailed off as Harry kissed him._

*

Grey eyes opening, Draco looked up from his folded arms. He stared off, the faintest lift to the corner of his mouth. As he sat there, in his daze, he slowly came to be aware of the fact that he had again dozed off in the library. He squeezed his eyes shut as he noticed that his head was throbbing. It had been his oddest dream yet.

Feeling more awake now, Draco opened his eyes again. He nearly jumped at the sight of Potter beside him. _Shit_.

"What was that look?" said Potter, perusing him.

Draco quickly set his face with a scowl.

Potter sighed. "Draco…" he said in a grudging mumble.

Draco looked away as he tried to shake off thoughts of the dream. It was unique in its ability to cling to his memory, and so _vividly_. Merlin, it had been so _real_. Almost a continuation of Molly's pensieve. It reminded Draco of the time he had dreamed about his future-self. It was almost like his imagination was filling in gaps in his curiosities.

Or perhaps he was simply losing his mind, which seemed the most logical of his theories. The past week had been a shit storm.

Draco's eyes flitted back to Potter. Now to top things off, he was _cornered_. Draco attempted to dart off, but Potter caught his arm without hesitation. As a Slytherin, Draco had a keen interest in self-preservation. Gryffindors, meanwhile, liked to confront things.

His jaw set, Draco sat back down. "You heard about the serum," he said bitterly. "Go ahead then. Interrogate me."

Potter's brows crossed. "What are you talking about?"

"Just get it over with."

"Dumbledore sent me to get you." Potter frowned. "Are you talking about the potions project?"

"What are you waiting for!?" Draco demanded, shoving Potter's hand off his arm. He glared at him challengingly, almost—entreating. But Draco was at a loss of what it was for.

Harry was both thoughtful and concerned. He looked at Draco contemplatively, before finally spouting: "When did you realize you were gay?"

Draco stared at him. Of all the things Potter could have asked, he had made the most pointless inquiry of them all. Potter could have asked for secrets regarding Draco's father, or the Malfoys' part in the war. Potter could have delved into Draco's _feelings_ and other such nonsense. Instead, Potter had asked about something that wasn't significant, pertinent, or even that interesting.

Draco's mind drifted to an incident that had occurred when he had been thirteen. It had been that one year that all of the House seekers had been startling attractive—Draco himself of course, Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang—and perhaps even Potter had not been too atrocious. The four were attending an informal meeting within the locker rooms. Hooch had set some new size parameters and a mandated weigh-in for all seekers following a nasty accident when a Ravenclaw substitute had gone into a dive and failed to recover before crashing badly into the ground. The poor git had grown a head taller and a stone of muscle the previous summer, and the Ravenclaw team captain had been stupid enough to let him continue to play seeker.

"Remove your robes," Hooch had ordered, snapping her measuring tape menacingly.

Potter had been practically salivating over Cho Chang who stripped down to a white blouse and a short skirt.

Chang goggled Diggory who was wearing muggle jeans and tight T-shirt.

Diggory stared at Draco, who self-consciously straightened the collar of his button-down, which was tucked into his trousers.

Draco didn't know why, but he snuck a glance at Potter, who was just pulling off his robes to reveal that he was… _starkers!_ Draco's eyes bulged.

Blushing deeply, Potter crossed his hands over his genitals as everyone gawked at him.

"P-Potter, why are you naked?" said Madame Hooch.

"I...didn't know we were supposed to wear clothes under our robes." Potter's blush spread up his ears and down his chest, and other places, too!

"You didn't—know…" Hooch stuttered. "Get out!" she screamed. "Get the hell out!"

His robes forgotten, Potter ran off.

And Draco had noticed that he liked boys sometime after that. The incident was completely unrelated, though, and Draco wasn't sure why it had even come to mind.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Draco opened his mouth to respond to Potter's inquiry—

And nothing came out. Draco's eyes widened as he realized that the potion had worn off. He closed his mouth again, and there was an awkward silence. Draco looked down at the table and felt himself frown.

Potter sighed. "What is it now?"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. "Our son is a mutant," he growled. "Dog ears, and a—a tail!" Draco didn't know how, but it was Potter's fault.

Potter smiled. "Teddy? He seems to be a metamorphmagus."

Draco blinked. He had a cousin with the affliction. "All the same," he said, avoiding the fact that it had likely come from his bloodline.

"And I don't think he was ours—biologically," Potter continued. "He was more like Remus." A thoughtful look crossed Potter's face. "And…Tonks? Oh wow, then maybe, maybe we see Teddy like family? Like me and the Weasleys, I suppose."

"Oh," was all Draco responded. He felt relieved that he and Potter would not start procreating even sooner than anticipated. He noticed that Potter's smile had fallen.

Perhaps he had realized the uncomfortable reason why the Weasleys had become his family, and why Potter might become Teddy's family, to the point that Teddy had a bedroom in their house.

Now Potter looked the way Draco had probably looked upon realizing that Snape would likely not survive the war. Potter's magic became restless, warm and tingly, wrapping around Draco eagerly, but—carefully.

And Draco enjoyed the sensation of it prickling up his spine, barely registering as Potter's head dropped to his shoulder, so enamored was he with the feeling of Potter's power. He allowed their magic to become entangled, then pleasantly smothering.

Potter's hair brushed Draco's lips as he murmured, "Dumbledore's waiting, isn't he?"

They remained like that a moment longer, before Potter finally lifted his head. He stretched his lips into a forced grin. "Alright, then. Let's go."

*

A half-hour later the two stood on either side of the headmaster as they observed Molly's latest memory.

Future-Potter was looking fucking delicious with his messy hair and roguish grin. Unlike future-Draco, he had surrendered his seeker's-body in lieu of a more muscular build. As he shed his auror robes, teen-Draco half-expected him to be naked beneath them, but _no_. He was wearing a fitted long-sleeved shirt and some slacks.

Nudity wouldn't have been appropriate anyway. Molly was present, her face buried in a very familiar newspaper.

 _This is it_ , teen-Draco thought in relief. _This is the right memory._

"Father won!" Molly held up the newspaper to reveal the cover to Future-Potter. Teen-Draco felt a glimmer of pride.

**_Chudley Cannons Win The League Cup For The First Time In Decades!_ **

"So I've been informed," said Future-Potter. "Twelve times!" he added, playfully tickling Molly. The child burst into giggles and fled his hands. Future-Potter pulled on a pink apron, neutralizing a good deal of his manliness. "Shall I cook his favorite?"

Molly put on a sour face. "Broccoli?"

"Broccoli," he echoed.

Teen-Potter gave teen-Draco an odd look, but Draco ignored him, as he continued to intently watch the scene.

Future-Potter entered the kitchen and Molly retired to the dining room table as she eagerly flipped through the newspaper.

"How was kindergarten?" Future-Potter called.

He was left ignored as Molly again marveled at the cover image of her father catching the snitch. She didn't even notice when the man in question walked in and smirked down at her.

"Molly."

The child jumped. "Hello father."

The teenagers gawked at how polite she was.

"Draco, is that you?" Future-Potter walked out of the kitchen and practically undressed his husband with his eyes. "Dinner in an hour." He grinned. "Dessert at ten." With a wink, he disappeared through the door again.

Teen-Draco choked, but his future self merely stared after the man, then leaned down to kiss the top of Molly's head. "I'll be downstairs," he said, and strolled off.

Molly continued to obsess over the newspaper. She must have gone through it ten times. Unable to help themselves, the two teenagers stepped forward to read over her shoulder. Future-Potter appeared as well, and the teenagers unthinkingly dodged him. Together, the three looked over the Prophet.

Every so often teen-Potter would gasp, or future-Potter would roll his eyes, but teen-Draco had already seen the paper himself, and was unsurprised by the headlines.

There were the break-up rumors, the revelations about the war, the photo of (an obviously delusional) future-Draco petulantly hugging the Potter-cat to his chest. And then there were the articles teen-Draco had failed to notice. He found himself pushing the other teenager aside.

**Auror Weasley Retires to Turn Tricks**

**_Zabini Heir a Veela?_ **

**Neville Longbottom Escapes from Azkaban!**

_What the…?_ Well the veela thing actually made sense. To teen-Draco's horror, Molly turned to the page of pregnancy rumors. "Er…"

"I know you already have Teddy," Future-Potter cut him off. "But how would you feel about another brother or sister?" he asked gently.

Molly looked up. "Would I get to share my toys?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"Mm," Future-Potter agreed.

Molly thought for a moment then furiously shook her head, _no_.

As teen-Draco nodded in agreement, future-Potter frowned. A fruity melody drifted through the air, and future-Potter reached into his pants pocket to withdraw a shiny rectangular device, which he pressed to his ear. "Hi Lucifer, I mean Lucius," he said nonchalantly.

Teen-Draco's jaw fell slack.

"No, I am not letting you take her to Japan on holiday. Spain was pushing it last summer. Do you know that she still drops everything and naps for siesta? Her teachers are sending me howlers!"

Teen-Draco glared at teen-Potter. "You're quite casual with my father."

Teen-Potter snorted and continued to watch the scene.

"I said _I_ was getting Molly her first owl!" Future-Potter was now shouting into the communication device. "Don't you dare! No _you_ shut up!" He shook the device as though he thought Lucius Malfoy was inside of it. Then he paused. "Molly, get your father for dinner."

Molly perked up at this. She folded the paper under her arm and hopped down from her seat.

"Don't go into the lab," future-Potter added, then he went back to his angry muttering into his device.

Molly turned down a corridor and turned again into the living room. She found a door, opened it, and started forward. "Father, it's time for dinner."

Down the staircase, future-Draco was working over a cauldron. "Molly, you know you're not supposed to—"

Molly tripped, and tumbled forward. As the teenagers flinched, Future-Draco raised his arms.

And then there was blackness, and the world dissolved.


	9. Chapter 9

The group of four stood blankly over the fading images in the pensieve.

"You're really well behaved in that memory." Potter was looking at Molly suspiciously.

Molly's lip quivered and she abruptly started bawling to Draco and Potter's alarm. "I miss father!" she cried. "A-and even dad!"

Potter frowned as Molly ran into Draco's legs.

Draco stood frozen. Being hugged by a small child was new territory for him. But through Potter's envious glare, he found inspiration. He knelt down and enclosed Molly in his arms as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

"I'm right here," he said.

"N-No you're not!" was Molly's muffled response.

They weren't fooling her. He and Potter weren't anything like their future counterparts. Draco rested his chin on her head and returned his gaze to the headmaster.

"Dreading up memories can be an emotional experience. I apologize for putting you through all this, Miss Potter," said Dumbledore as he continued to gaze down into the silvery liquid of the pensieve. "Mr. Malfoy, it seems that your future counterpart cast a spell directly before Molly arrived here."

Draco clenched his teeth. "It was almost—reflexive," he muttered. "I'm horrible with wandless magic." He glanced away, hating to admit his deficits in a room of powerful wizards.

"Your difficulty is in controlling it," said Dumbledore. "Which is understandable. Your wandless magic is very unique."

"So I did this," said Draco, glancing back down at Molly. "My future self?"

"Indeed."

"Great," said Draco sardonically. He could feel Potter's gaze on his head, which only intensified Draco's self-depreciating mood.

"It's truly remarkable," Dumbledore went on, now stirring the pensieve to rewatch the scene. "Mr. Malfoy, your future-self seems to have additional powers than the ones you have now. Or perhaps, just stronger ones. He appears to have singlehandedly sent Molly back in time with no aid of a magical object, no timeturner, not even a wand."

"How is that possible?" said Potter.

Dumbledore finally withdrew his wand from the basin. "I think he's a seer."

Draco's eyes widened and Dumbledore met them.

"Mr. Malfoy's magic acted out unpredictability and erratically—it's a telltale sign. More specifically, he created a rift in time through which he sent Molly. Surely only a seer is capable of accessing a timeline with solely their own magic. And to manipulate it—well, I've never seen such a thing."

"A seer," Draco deadpanned. He had been accused of being a veela, a vampire, and an elf, but now _a seer_ , and by Dumbledore no less, whose word was practically revered in the wizarding world. Draco had no interest in the practice whatsoever. He liked definitive magic, not precarious guesswork. He hadn't even taken Divination at Hogwarts.

"That's amazing," said Potter, looking at Draco with renewed interest— _the prat_.

"It seems you are to become a very powerful wizard, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore.

Molly pulled away from Draco somewhat, her teary face looking up at him.

Draco absently smoothed back her disheveled hair. "Seers are useless," he said, making sure not to sneer as he perused Molly. "On average, they make a couple of accurate predictions in their lifetimes. Excuse me if I'm not jumping with joy. Just tell me how we reverse this and send Molly back before..." Before the war picked up and this world became a shit-storm. He still couldn't get the concept of a portrait-Snape out of head.

"That certainly is the dilemma at hand," said the headmaster.

"Our future selves should know how to resolve this," Draco continued irritably. "Unless they're waiting for something. Or unless they... _don't_ know..." he trailed off. _Fuck_.

"I'm afraid we've only been thinking in terms of time," said Dumbledore. "But Molly's presence has changed things drastically. How can the present sum equate to the same future? I believe that Molly's presence has created an alternative reality."

"I've never heard of that," said Potter.

"Nor have I," said Dumbledore. "Yet it's the only thing that makes sense at this point. What happened in Molly's timeline won't necessarily happen in this one. In fact, I'm doubtful it will. Molly's from an entirely different reality, and so there is no risk to her ceasing to exist based on your actions in this one."

"And yet there's a risk that she won't come to be in this reality," said Potter blankly.

"Quite considerably," said Dumbledore brightly. "It's a classic example of the butterfly effect. Things here could turn out drastically changed from how they turned out in Molly's reality." Dumbledore noticed Potter's fallen expression. "This is good news, my boy. You're in full control of your own destinies."

Draco was stunned. He was essentially being told that the child presently wrapped in his arms wasn't his and might never be.

Dumbledore surveyed both Draco and Potter's faces. "There's nothing to mourn my boys. This is a new type of time travel. Your family created a whole new reality. You three are quite the powerful trio."

He ushered the three out of the office with the promise to consult some books.

Molly sniffed. She had released Draco's robes but was presently gripping his hand.

"Please stop crying," said Draco.

"O-okay." But Molly continued to do so.

Draco frowned and tried not to indulge in the idea of simply _keeping_ her. Based on what Dumbledore had informed them, Molly was one of a kind.

And suddenly he felt queasy.

"We'll try our best to get you home," Potter voiced what both of them knew. "Even though we'll miss you terribly. But for now, why don't we get dinner? The three of us."

"Together?" said Molly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes.

What she needed in immediacy was familiarity.

"Together," Draco sighed.

Molly was entirely incredulous, and Draco and Potter exchange looks. Maybe they really did need to make a conscious effort to—pretend to be a family. It was the only thing she seemed to know.

*

In the Great Hall, Draco and Molly headed to the table closest to the entrance. Harry threw a helpless look to shocked Gryffindors as he trudged after them. He was clearly outnumbered by Slytherins in his family.

As Harry sat down at the rival house table, Slytherins jeered and hissed at him, other house students craning their necks to see what was going on.

Draco gave his housemates an admonishing look, though Harry still could not help bowing his head between the haughty sneers and amused smirks being directed his way.

Fortunately, Harry's mind was elsewhere. His life had entirely fallen off track, and he couldn't get back on it. It would be futile to try. His relationship with Draco was already fractured. Their future would see none of the truths that Molly's presence had implied. They were essentially starting from scratch. Him and Draco…apart. Dumbledore had suggested it was a good thing. So why did he feel so damaged?

Fingers grasped his lightly under the table. At first Harry thought it was Molly, but the hand was too large. They were Draco's fingers, and it was…everything. Reassurance, promise, and profession all wrapped up in the simple contact. His body flooded with warmth, Harry stayed like that for a while, too nervous to do anything, not even eat. Desperate to prolong the connection as long as he could. Draco nonchalantly picked at his plate and Harry's eyes drifted up to marvel at him.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Harry reddened, gobsmacked by the conflicting reassurance and aggression being sent his way. It was only then that he noticed Gregory Goyle give him a wink.

"Oh—god!" Harry tore his hand out of Goyle's. _Slytherin perverts!_

As Harry shuddered, Molly snickered at his wet eyes and evident vulnerability.

"God?" said Crabbe.

"Muggle term. Potter loves muggles," said Draco icily.

"You do, Potter? Is that why your clothes are always so wrinkly?" said Blaise, genuinely curious.

"I...er...don't know," Harry managed, still shaking.

"Potter doesn't know a lot of things," Draco intoned.

"Clearly. He still hasn't figured out how to give you a proper lay," said Pansy.

Draco flushed. "Don't be crass. There's a child here."

"And a Gryffindor at our table," said Nott under his breath. "Harry Sodding Potter."

Harry cowered.

"Harry Bloody Potter."

_"Harry Fucking Potter!"_

*

The whole hall fell silent, all eyes directed to Molly, whose grin abruptly fell.

"What—did—you—say?" said Draco, his glass cracking in his grip.

The child blanched.

"Molly, that was a bad word!" said Harry.

"Indecent," said Draco.

"Bad!" Harry added.

"I have half a mind to—" It was only then that Draco noticed the stares, now aimed towards him and Potter. Molly was scowling, and Draco was nonplussed by how quickly he and Potter had become disciplinarians. And Molly resented it. Their solidarity.

In lieu of sitting there being goggled like a zoo animal, Draco climbed to his feet and strode out of the Great Hall. He heard feet shuffling after him, but ignored them, until he has passed the entrance hall and found his way into an adjacent corridor where he leaned on the wall to catch his breath.

Suddenly there were hands on the wall on either side of him, caging him there. Potter gave him a contemplative look.

"Why aren't you worried about—anything?" Potter asked nervously.

Draco gripped his shirt. "Because I'm a seer," he said wryly.

Potter's eyes widened as he was pulled into a kiss. It was the first time Draco had initiated the contact. Both registered it but neither said a word.

As the two broke apart, Potter's expression went from goofy to smug.

"What?" Draco dared him to remark.

"Nothing." But Draco continued to glare. "Sometimes I just...like watching you with Molly. You're getting more ma-parental." As Potter narrowly dodged the word "maternal," Draco struggled not to grip for his wand.

Potter's trailed his hand down Draco's hip, his eyes taking that hooded look it often did now.

"What about you?" Draco accused. "You're getting more sexual."

An abashed expression crossed Potter's face. "Excuse me if I'm not a Slytherin."

"That's not what I'm saying. We seem to be developing into—the people we become. Molly's parents. You're a Gryffindor and already seem to have the gushy blathering emotional parent thing down, but you're changing in other ways."

"Husband role," Potter mused.

Draco curtly nodded. "And she's making me more...emotional," he spat. "You, more physical. She's ruining us."

"Is that so bad?" Potter was close again. He wanted to test out the theory.

"Mm," Draco asserted against the kiss. They explored each other's mouths and Draco tried not to think about how nice it would be to do this regularly.

"So what is this?" said Potter excitedly, pulling back and looking flushed. "Are we a couple?" There was hope in his eyes.

Draco licked his lips. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, kissing Potter again. This time he felt himself being pressed hard into the wall. He rolled his hips and Potter groaned. Now they were just antagonizing each other. "We're barely acquaintances," Draco breathed, as he kissed Potter thoroughly. His face sunk to the crook of the other teen's neck. He could hear Potter breathing heavily against the side of his head. Draco sighed, grimaced, and promptly pushed him away. "I'll see you in four years, Potter," he drawled as he shoved past the brunette and stalked off.

*

Harry's face fell. "You're kidding," he managed, as Draco continued to stride away.

Hermione wandered over, like perhaps she had been lurking around there the whole time. "Well you've got something to look forward to," she comforted, lightly patting Harry's back.

"Yeah, that's...I guess." Harry kicked at some invisible dirt.

"Maybe you'll come together sooner." Hermione shrugged.

Harry leered after Draco. "That's the game plan."

"By the way, what happened to Molly? It was almost like she apparated."

"What?" said Harry, somewhat alarmed. He ran back to the Great Hall, almost bowling Hermione over in the process. Then he looked to where Molly had been sitting across from Blaise and Pansy, but in her place stood a group of baffled-looking Slytherins. Even some Ravenlaws had come over to speculate about the phenomenon.

It seemed that Molly was...gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Prophecy was different from time-travel. Having a vision of the future never seemed to change the outcome, not even a bit.

Or perhaps it depended on the seer, and the level of respect they had for the intricacies of time.

At twenty-six, Draco would have revealed it all, had he thought it would make a difference. He would have revealed the fact that he had seen Molly in _his _future, which was inconsistent with the present circumstances and the fact that she was irrevocably gone.__

____

____

"It was a half-moon that night," noted Ronald Weasley. "Couldn't that have had an effect on the magic?"

"Elementricity," said Professor Goyle, who was on break from his Muggle Studies post. "A powerful surge crawled in through the pipes and turned the girl to dust."

"We went over it so many times," said Hermione Granger. "I think we should review the integrity of the potion—how it might have impacted Draco's magic."

"The potion was irrelevant," snarled Snape's portrait. "This has been _determined_ , Granger."

"We must review the circumstances of the spell," said Dumbledore's portrait. "I know we're all exhausted, but I believe this is all still relevant to Draco's _mind-set_."

"My mind set?" said Draco, pulling himself out of Harry's lap. "You want to go over _that_ again?"

"I know it is difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable, Mr. Potter, but you must—"

"I was fucking sick of her!" Draco snapped.

Shocked looks and silence overtook the headmaster's office.

"Bloody hell," said Ron.

As he processed his outburst, Draco's eyes widened, and he stormed off. He hurried down the staircase breathing in huffs. A suit of armor across the hall trembled then fell apart.

Harry walked down the staircase after him. "Draco..."

"Fuck this!" Draco snapped, the fallen armor becoming burning red. The stone gargoyle's eyes were shifty and nervous.

Draco began to stalk off, but Harry caught him around the waist. Harry's arms encircled him, chest pressed to his back and hands settling on his stomach. Draco sagged against him.

Draco's magic had been erratic since Molly's disappearance. He felt Harry's power evening it out.

"Did you mean what you said?" Harry murmured.

"Yes," Draco choked out.

They stood there suspended in an uneasy silence, and Draco wondered how Harry could do anything but resent him.

"It was a long Quidditch season..." Harry offered.

"I just...needed a bloody moment," said Draco, as Harry idly drew circles on his abdomen. "Molly's been getting needy, always pestering me lately. It's my fault. I don't spend enough time with her. But when she just burst into the lab like that..."

Harry turned him around so that they were facing each other. "You can tell me," he whispered.

Draco stared into the greenest of eyes, second only to their daughter's. For the past week he had been questioned, scrutinized, and psychoanalyzed. And in the wake Molly's disappearance, it had made it all the more difficult to isolate his true motivations in his unintentional spell.

"Merlin...I think I wanted a break," said Draco breathlessly. "There was so much pressure from the Cannons last season. And the England team wanted to meet with me. And you and I—we were talking about having another child. I was just trying to decompress and process everything. Sort it all out in my head. And I know you do so much Harry, you practically do _everything_ , it's just—"

"It's okay." Harry smiled. He absently stroked Draco's cheek. "I understand."

Draco's heart pounded. There was no argument. Harry was refusing to judge. It was an almost _idle_ show of unconditional love, and it was _outlandish_. How could he be so forgiving!?

Draco lowered his eyes. Ironically, he was feeling the opposite of the way he had felt when he had accidentally vanished their daughter. The Quidditch season was over, and he couldn't care less about the England team at that point. He felt supported, safe, eager to take on more responsibility when it came to the kids. Grey eyes flashing silver, Draco pushed Harry away, and lifted trembling hands.

He molded her from nothing. Blonde hair, pale skin, emerald eyes even larger and brighter than Harry's.

Draco dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms. With a gasp, Harry embraced the two of them. His body shook and he buried his face in Molly's hair. They effectively smothered her as they ignored the murmurs of passing students.

_"Is that Harry and Draco Potter?"_

_"Shit, I think it is!"_

Harry stood, wiping his eyes, conscious of their growing crowd of spectators. He lifted Molly into a tight hug. "You utter brat," he whispered lovingly before he lowered her to her feet.

It was only in Molly's absence from his arms that Draco realized how weary he felt. He tentatively stood, but swayed forward. He felt Harry grab hold of him, keeping him steady until the dizziness subsided.

"It was a powerful spell," Harry reasoned, as he rubbed Draco's arm.

Draco nodded, and they waited a moment longer, until he felt confident enough to be guided back up the staircase to McGonagall's office.

Surprised gasps and relieved murmurs filled the room at the sight of the child. The portraits craned their necks to observe the scene. Even Severus looked relieved.

"He did it?" Ron breathed.

"Molly!" Hermione croaked out.

The others closed in around them, but Molly failed to notice. She leaned on Draco's knees after he dropped himself to a chair. "Are you okay, father?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, mirroring her stare, scrutinizing her, curious of if she had changed.

Draco noticed Harry kept a hand on his shoulder, the pleasant static of their connection running through his veins straight into his core.

"Where were you?" Draco asked as he lifted Molly onto his knee.

"I was with father—and dad too!" Molly scrunched her face in thought. "Only different ones."

"Me and your dad?" said Draco, not understanding. "That's impossible Molly. You weren't with us."

But Molly nodded eagerly. "They were nice but also really, weally cwazy," she said, getting too hasty and mispronouncing her R's.

Unable to make sense of the child's words, Draco mused on the round spectacles now set on the bridge of her nose. "Can you see through those?"

"Oh yes. Now everything's so pretty!"

Draco frowned. He hadn't known she was having vision problems. "They look very familiar," he mused.

Harry leaned down from behind his shoulder as he took in the glasses as well. "They do," he said, his voice stunned.

"Perhaps utilization of the pensieve will help fill in some gaps," suggested Dumbledore's portrait.

Draco nodded vaguely, but he could hardly care, he was just relieved that Molly was back. The child slowly grinned then embraced him again. Draco sighed against the top of her head.

Sometimes he got so immersed in work, he created a distance between himself and his family. He tried to make up for it during his off-seasons, but it still wasn't right.

He supposed it was easier than balancing things, the way Harry did. In the wake of his nine months carrying Molly, Draco had become obstinate about compromise when it came to his career.

Harry was easygoing and patient. He let it slide. But the children...they felt Draco's absence. Hence Molly's excessive attachment to him. And perhaps even Teddy's shyness.

The office doors burst open again, a harbinger to Pomfrey's perpetual fretting. Draco closed his eyes and sighed as he heard her making her way towards him.

"Poppy," said Harry.

"Mr. Potter," said Pomfrey.

"How is she?"

Draco reluctantly lifted his head.

Molly giggled as a halo of light descended from Pomfey's wand and rolled down the length of her body.

"She's fine," Pomfrey said.

Draco felt a second halo descend on him, leaving a trail of iciness. Pomfrey was compulsive as always.

"You, however, are magically drained, Mr. Ma—Potter," Pomfrey absently corrected herself. "Give it a few hours." Her eyes lifted to Harry's steady green ones. "Stay with him until then. He could use your magic, him and the—"

"I know," said Harry firmly. "Thank you. We're all exhausted. Actually—can we have a moment?" Harry looked around at the others.

With expressions of understanding, the others began to clear the room, Hermione looking as though she was restraining herself from grabbing Molly up herself. Snape and Dumbledore also left their portraits.

In their wake, the three Potters remained there in silence for a while, each trying to recover emotionally from the day's events.

"How I felt that day..." said Draco, his grey eyes lifting. "Things changed."

"As they tend to." Harry leaned over, bowing Draco's head to kiss the top of it. Then he lowered to his knees to embrace Draco about the waist, Molly squished between them but she hardly seemed to mind.

And Harry mused, _This is bliss._

"I want another," said Draco flatly, face still buried in his daughter's hair.

Harry pulled back from them in surprise. "Um—sure." He flashed a smile.

Molly blinked.

"I mean it this time," said Draco. "Besides, in all likelihood I'm going to disown this one for what she puts me through."

"Father!" Molly pouted. "You can't destone me!" she fled from Draco, as though she thought it might be painful, and scrambled onto Harry, who settled her back on her feet. Giving them both a wary look, Molly huffed and ran off to make swipes for the sorting hat, which was inches out of her reach.

Harry smiled at the floor. He crossed his legs and rested his elbow on his thigh to lean his chin on his hand. Harry's free hand took his husband's. "Draco, I think we, er, already took care of that in our lovely quarters. Right here at Hogwarts." Harry stroked pale knuckles with his thumb. "You've obviously been distracted, but don't you...don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Draco's eyes widened. He moved his hand to his stomach, and he tried to focus in on the...faintest trace of unfamiliar magic. Similar to his, but distinct. And a lot like Harry's. Draco swallowed, his eyelids lowering some. "So when McGonagall congratulated us the morning after we..."

"Guess she could feel it too." Harry smirked.

Mortified, Draco held his face with both hands as though he was nursing a headache. "It's rather...abrupt."

"Mm, I guess our magic could tell what we wanted," Harry teased.

"The Cannons won't be pleased." Draco felt warm. He looked up and couldn't contain the hint of a smile.

Harry laughed. "I'm sure they'll manage."

Draco leaned down to kiss him, but gasped as Harry pulled him into his lap.


	11. Chapter 11

_"I have him four days out of the week," Potter mentioned, his voice hoarse, and his hair more messy than usual. He was wearing muggle clothes—jeans and a t-shirt that fit him quite nicely. He was in his late teens, and he looked wearier, his eyes duller. Every expression he made was deliberate, almost forced. When Potter was alone, Draco wondered if he let it fall into jaded apathy. "My godson."_

_"Right." Leaning against the counter in a dreary-looking kitchen stood Draco, his own hair disheveled and his shirt untucked. Draco reluctantly lowered his tea and offered Potter his full attention, because this was probably important._ The infamous Teddy. _Draco scrutinized the grinning baby. "Fuck," Draco thought aloud as Potter unexpectedly deposited the child into his arms._

_Draco held Teddy against his shoulder as the infant squealed in delight. Electric blue hair turned white blonde as the baby squirmed. Draco tried to lean away from a sloppy cheek-kiss, and failed. "Ba ba ba ba..." Teddy babbled._

_Draco cringed at the exposure to baby-slobber. He glanced at Potter and..._

_Potter was staring, jadedness fading, as a small smile bloomed on his visage. He looked down, somewhere between amused and awed._

_"What?" grumbled Draco irritably._

_Potter lifted his tea to his lips. "Erm...nothing."_

*

"I can't find her!"

Draco snapped out of reverie, with no time to even process his latest dream. He blinked around the library before finally registering Potter standing in front of his table.

"She's not in Great Hall, or with my friends, or _your_ friends, or either of our common rooms," Potter rambled.

Draco blanched as he realized what Potter was referring to.

"Have you seen her? Tell me you have her!"

"No—I—" Draco was aghast by the sudden dilemma. Maybe Molly was just hiding somewhere, or following around those obnoxious Slytherin First-years.

And yet Draco could feel it somehow. Molly's absence.

"We..." Draco managed. "We need to see Dumbledore." He stood and swept off, Potter hurrying after him.

Several moments later, the two boys found themselves standing before the headmaster's desk, as Dumbledore examined them closely while gently waving his wand.

"The bond is absent," muttered the centenarian finally. "It seems that she truly is gone."

"Gone?" said Potter.

"She has left the timeline. I am assuming her family took her back."

"Assuming?" said Draco tersely.

"She has ceased to exist here," Dumbledore elaborated for the malfunctioning teenagers. "In our universe. Disappeared. Departed."

Draco wasn't too keen on the term 'departed.' He felt the world tilting. Suddenly Potter grabbed his arm.

"So she's okay?" said Potter weakly.

"She is where she belongs. In her timeline."

And there had been no ceremony. No goodbyes. During their last interaction, they had scolded her for using an indecent word.

The two teenagers left the office, their faces blank.

"Draco..."

Ignoring Potter, Draco continued towards the dungeons. The bond was gone after all. There was nothing connecting them now.

It wasn't long before Draco noticed a black cat trailing him, scurrying by his feet. "Go away Pot-- _Specs_ ," Draco said, conscious of the increasing presence of Slytherins as he approached the entrance to the snake den. He tried to shoo the cat with his foot, but it growled threateningly at him. Draco hastily slipped through the portrait entrance, but the cat scrambled in right after him.

"SOD OFF!" Draco snapped. Draco tried to stomp the cat, and smack it with one of his textbooks. The cat retaliated by scratching Draco across the nose.

"Draco are you...okay?" said Pansy. She was among the several Slytherins present, all who were staring at him.

Draco ignored them. "Fuck you Specs!" He stormed off to his dorm and threw himself in bed.

"Mew?"

Draco lifted his face, and to his dismay, he saw that the bloody Potter-cat had followed him there. Dropping his head back down, Draco curled up and stared at the wall as he sunk into a catatonic stupor. He felt the deplorably fluffy creature climb onto the bed and curl up, rubbing its head on his neck. Draco ignored it, but after a while, found himself absently stroking its back.

When Draco awoke in the early hours of the following morning, he was wrapped in Potter's lean form. "Fuck." He squirmed, and green eyes opened. He and Potter proceeded to stare at each other.

They leaned forward in unison and kissed, idly, but it wasn't sexual enough, it was far too...intimate. As their lips broke, Draco opened his eyes and savored the tingle of his magic washing over him, mingling with Harry's.

Potter surveyed him. He reached out to brush strands of blonde hair back from Draco's eyes. "I love...when your magic lights up your face, and your eyes glow silver, for just a moment."

Draco reddened. "That happens?" His voice came out smaller than he had intended.

"Mhmm."

Draco looked off. They pulled away from each other, and Draco buried his head under his sheets.

*

Sighing, Harry quietly climbed up, careful not to rouse any of the sleeping Slytherins in the dorm.

He spared one more glance at Draco's hidden form.

Harry almost pitied the blonde.

Draco and Molly had been particularly close. Closer than Draco was with most anyone, actually. Harry had been resentful at times. Jealous of their bond.

But now all he felt was pity.

Lighting the tip of his wand, Harry crept towards the door, almost stepping on a book as he tiptoed across the room.

Harry looked down at the book. It was a potions text for Snape's class. He could spot some scribblings within it, and somewhat a fiend for illicit notes, Harry could not help crouching down to examine it.

He immediately realized the book was Draco's, if just by the crayon drawings that littered it, as he scrutinized the pages by wand light. Molly's drawings.

Harry flipped through, and consistently spotted a childish doodle of a man with messy black hair, green eyes, and a lightening bolt on his forehead.

"Heh..."

But Harry slowly became overwhelmed, as page after page revealed varying depictions of him, and now the images were moving.

The Harry-doodle was seen in sweeping auror robes, brandishing his wand, or raising his arms victoriously. Sometimes it grinned, or laughed, or placed its hands on its hips like a comic book champion. Other times the doodle lifted a blonde-haired girl onto its shoulders. And occasionally a gray-eyed doodle made a cameo, whizzing around on a broom at the upper corners of pages.

But the story focused largely on the lightening-scarred wizard, and sometimes doodle-Molly, who would accompany doodle-Harry, marching across pages, jinxing dark wizards, and standing atop their piled bodies.  
At one point, the Harry-doodle caught the Draco-doodle, who fell from his broom. In the end, both doodles knelt down to flank the Molly-doodle, all three grinning.

It was like a weird fairytale. And Harry was the star.

Blinking rapidly, Harry stuffed the book under his cloak and hurriedly left the room.

*

Over the next few days, Draco seemed depressed, like a heartbroken veela or something. He stopped gelling his hair as aggressively, so that sometimes blonde stands fell in his eyes rather seductively. He stopped eating much, and dragged himself from class to class like an elf prince whose ears had been chopped off. He was also struggling in Potions for some reason. It had been his best subject.

Worse, Draco was doing his best to avoid Harry. But Harry knew he needed space right now. Or so Harry gathered from his own feelings of misery.

And yet Harry could not help stealing the seat next to Draco during potions that day. Pansy froze mid-step and huffed indignantly, before striding off to be partners with Nott. Ron and Hermione blinked and Draco glared venomously.

"Hey..." said Harry.

But Draco ignored him.

Harry pretended to focus as Snape wrote down some random stuff on the chalkboard. "Page 672," the potions master drawled.

Harry pulled out the doodle-littered potions text and turned to the aforementioned page, but the instructions were indecipherable, almost deliberately covered in crayon. Harry again became absorbed in the pictures as doodle-Harry was immersed in a muggle-style brawl with a dark wizard, doodle-Molly cheering him on from the sidelines. Harry's shoulders trembled.

Draco had retrieved all the ingredients and gotten to work on the potion, it seemed, from memory. He paid no mind to his indolent partner, and yet seemed...tranquil, if just for that moment.

Feeling guilty, Harry lowered the text and reached out to help, but Draco slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch _anything_ Potter. My grade isn't suffering because you have the competence level of a moldy carrot."

Harry scowled.

Draco was just chopping some eel eye, when Neville stumbled by, and something seemed to plop into their brew. The potion bubbled forebodingly as it went from pale maroon to a bright glowing purple.

 _"Protego,"_ Draco snarled as the cauldron exploded.

The room was enveloped in billows of thick smoke, and Harry found himself huddled over, his hair in his eyes. He slowly climbed up and looked at the melted remnants of the cauldron, stunned that he was unscathed. But then he blinked around. "Draco?"

He spotted the other teen sprawled on the ground, burns littering his face and arms. It was only then that Harry realized Draco had not used the shield charm on himself.


	12. Chapter 12

_Draco dropped his head, hard, against the surface of the kitchen table, surrendering his efforts to get Teddy to eat. After an hour of trying, he'd failed to get the child to swallow even one spoon of mush. Instead, the infant just laughed at him. It was demented, really. He must have taken after Potter in the short time he had lived at Grimmauld. "Edward, you disappoint me."_

_Teddy scrunched up his chubby face._

_"He hates when you call him that," said Potter as he lowered a tray of tea.  
Potter leaned down and engaged the child in asinine baby-talk, Teddy clapping in mirth. Draco absently admired Potter's ass before noticing Potter lift a spoonful of baby-mush and easily stuff it into Teddy's mouth._

_Draco rolled his eyes. Potter was still the same dodgy bastard he had been at Hogwarts. Lately he took to showing off his superior parenting skills, to Draco's immense irritation. Like it mattered that Draco was as useful as flobberworm excrement when it came to children. What did Draco care that Teddy probably thought him to be a ghost or house elf, or some large elaborate bird inhabiting Potter's house? It wasn't as though it bothered him. Of course it didn't!_

_"Da...Da...Dada! Dada!" Teddy babbled to Potter before he was cut off by another serving of mush._

_Potter sat down and flipped through his text on Auror Defense Spells. He continued to distractedly feed Teddy with his free hand. By the fourth spoon, however, Teddy turned his face in refusal, and Draco found secret satisfaction in Potter's astronomical display of failure. Instead Teddy turned right to Draco, flexed his chubby little fingers and said:_

_"Fod-fodher."_

_Potter and Draco froze._

_Blinking, Potter lowered his book and grinned uncertainly, looking at Draco for his reaction._

_Unfortunately Potter could not see the way Draco's heart clenched. Draco lifted his head from where it had been pressed against the table top. "Why is he calling me fodder?"_

_"He said father, you git!"_

_Draco snorted. "Took him long enough."_

_"Hey, it's a hard word." Both pretended not to hear Potter's voice crack. "You could have settled for 'papa,' you know. He would have learned that ages ago." Potter passed Draco the remaining baby food._

Papa? _Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought._

_Ignoring him, Potter leaned down to kiss the child's head. "Good job Teddy."_

_Teddy smiled shyly, and his eyes went green. Draco inwardly groaned._ C'mon Edward. _He certainly wasn't making this easy._

_"Heh," said Potter awkwardly, appraising the child's blonde hair, green eyes, and pale features. "He looks rather like..."_

_"Yeah," Draco cut him off, and it was his turn to bury his face in his tea cup._

*

Draco wasn't in Herbology that afternoon, and Harry could barely restrain himself from storming out of class. It wasn't until his free period later that day that Harry was able to race off to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was in her office, so Harry took to poking his face into the curtains around each bed, ignoring the shrieks, curses, and occasional slaps, until he found Draco.

Draco was sleeping, and he looked gorgeous when he did. Harry marveled at the way his long lashes rested on his cheeks, and the soft breaths he released, that couldn't quite count as snores. Gone was his sneer, tension, and the animosity in his brow. He was so pretty it was almost _painful_. For a while, Harry stood there and simply gawked.

It took a while to realize that Draco was covered in bandages. They encircled his arms, fingers, throat, and chest. There were even some on his face, partially-healed burns peeking out from beneath them. Harry carefully cupped Draco's bandaged cheek, and grey eyes lifted.

Draco looked dazed for a moment, before his eyes became focused, and studied Harry. Wincing, Draco tried to sit up, and Harry carefully supported his shoulder. The bed magically adjusted to a more upright position.

"Why didn't Pomfrey heal you?" Harry asked in confusion.

Draco shrugged in response, and carefully shifted himself away from Harry's hand.

Sighing, Harry pulled away and sat on the bedside chair. Draco was clearly still in a foul mood.

A sudden thought struck Harry. Digging into his backpack, he withdrew a book. "Have you seen this?" He smiled as he opened the Potions book. He ran his fingers over the moving images. "It's—"

Giving the book a glance, Draco's eyes widened. "Is that my bloody Potions textbook? Of course I've seen it, you tosser. It's mine! Mourdred, half my textbooks are full of doodles of you, and the ones that aren't are apparently being _stolen_ by you. It's a wonder I haven't failed all my classes!"

Harry blinked at him obliviously. "But Draco, the pictures—"

"Don't remind me," said Draco in disgust.

"What—?"

"You're her _hero,_ " said Draco derisively. He snatched the book, winced, then dropped it to his lap.

It took Harry a moment to process the remark. "But she didn't—"

"Like you? Insecure, wasn't she? Treated you like a bloody screwt." Draco smirked at the thought. He glanced at the textbook which had fallen open in his lap, and rolled his eyes as doodle-Draco fell into doodle-Harry's arms, as he would perpetually. " _Why_ can't I get away from you? Everywhere I look, it's Potter, Potter—"

Harry choked out a sob and bowed his head, twisting his fingers through his hair. The trembling was worse now. He tried to swallow, but instead started crying uncontrollably, tears pouring down his cheeks, and Merlin, it was _embarrassing_. He was just grateful that Draco had gone completely silent until Harry was able to catch his breath.

He slowly looked up at Draco, who was tense and uncomfortable.

"S-sorry," said Harry.

Draco gave a curt nod. "You can have the book," he deadpanned. He closed his eyes and leaned back on his pillows.

Harry smiled ruefully. "Why did you protect me from the blast?" His voice was weak. "It wasn't like the Quidditch game. You chose me over _yourself_."

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line, but he did not respond.

*

"Something's going on with him," said Harry in the Great Hall that evening. "It's the way he looks at me sometimes, then just shuts down. It's like he's...he's thinking about things." Harry wrung his hands anxiously.

"Er...okay," said Hermione. She lightly shook herself out of her reverie. "Well isn't that a good thing, Harry?"

"I'm not sure..." Draco had the tendency to over-think anything relevant to Harry, and usually see it in a negative light.

Ron was watching him in morbid interest as he absently stuffed chunks of meat pie into his mouth.

"And I don't understand the burns," said Harry, though, admittedly, if he went over all the things he didn't understand about Draco Malfoy, they would be there all night. "Why didn't they heal? He looks terrible."

A speculative expression crossed Hermione's face. "With some wizards...their magic is very closely tied to emotions. Delayed healing can be a symptom of that. It's considered a minor issue in most cases, and should resolve itself. If you think about it, it could be worse. Muggles take weeks to heal, and with no potions to help things along."

Harry still frowned. "His emotional state..." he mused.

Hermione nodded gently.

"He's depressed," said Harry. It wasn't a question.

"So it would seem."

"Right then."

"Harry?"

But Harry was already halfway to the door. This couldn't go on any longer. He'd thought that they needed space, but that wasn't helping much. If anything, it was making things worse.

When Harry got to the hospital wing, Draco was gone. Harry stared blankly at Draco's empty bed, and asked Madame Pomfrey where the Slytherin had gone.

"Back to his common room, I would imagine. Mr. Malfoy was just discharged."

Shoulders slumped, Harry trudged back out of the Infirmary. He had to be with Draco, had to make sure he was okay. Just as Harry began to consider sneaking into the dungeons in his animagi form again, his breath caught in his throat.

Draco was watching him from down the hall. The blonde was leaning on the wall, his arms crossed, and his face a mask of apathy. He was back in his fine robes, though Harry could see that his limbs were still heavily wrapped in bandages. And Draco looked just as miserable as he had looked before.

Grey eyes examined Harry, sliding up from his boots to his Gryffindor tie. When they met Harry's face, Draco glowered at him. Then the blonde pushed himself off the wall and began to slink off, but Harry's legs were suddenly moving.

Harry grabbed Draco—gently—before the Slytherin could get away again. Harry embraced him as carefully as he could. Draco stood unmoving, his arms hanging limply at his sides. But slowly, his pressure on Harry increased, and Draco looked so tempted to drop his head.

Harry pulled away when he heard some other students coming around the corner, though he thought he could have stayed like that all night. He wrapped Draco's injured fingers with his calloused ones. "Come on," he said, pulling lightly.

And to his relief, Draco followed.

*

Late the following morning, Harry's bed curtains were jerked back.

"Mate, we're going to be late for..." Ron trailed off.

Harry awoke just in time to see Ron's face turn bright red from the sight of Draco Malfoy wrapped in Harry's arms.

"S-sorry," Ron stammered.

Harry blinked a few times. "It's okay. He's a heavy sleeper." He looked down at the blonde head buried against his chest.

Ron stared, his mouth agape, then finally dropped down heavily on the opposite bed.

"We didn't do anything," said Harry quickly. "I just didn't want him to be alone." Harry did not admit that _he_ had not wanted to be alone either.

"Blimey." Ron scratched his head, still looking uncomfortable. "Things are getting serious."

"I guess," Harry muttered vaguely, because he wasn't sure.

"People are catching wind of it, you know?" Ron added, worrying his bottom lip. "I'm surprised it hasn't hit the Prophet yet. What if it gets back to—"

"I can take care of myself," Harry interjected. "Besides. I'm protected. But Draco..." Harry felt his chest constrict. He could not imagine the blonde's family would react well to the fact that Draco was involved with their mortal enemy. And Draco's father was a known Death Eater. The summer holidays were coming fast, and Harry didn't want Draco to be somewhere that he was not safe.

At the same time, Harry did not know how to broach the topic. He and Draco had not even officialized this thing between them. They had never discussed the war, or—anything, really.

But Draco was his future. That was all that mattered.

"Remus told me that he could make a patronus," Harry mumbled. "He'd never seen a—a Death Eater who could make one before. Draco's _not_ like the rest of his family. He has a greater capacity for…um…for other things."

"You think so?" said Ron doubtfully.

Harry nodded. "He's not committed to hatred, he kind of just...parrots it. But I think there's hope for him yet. It probably helps that he's going to have a half-blood daughter."

Ron nodded. "I just think—"

Draco stirred, and Ron froze up.

"S-See you at Transfiguration?" said Ron hurriedly.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Ron bolted from the room, and it became very quiet for a while, but Draco's breaths were less long and rhythmic, and Harry knew he was awake.

And then Draco mumbled, "Harry..."

Harry's face caught fire. He was not sure why the sound of his first name had such an effect when Draco said it, but now his heart was pounding, his stomach fluttering, and his head was swimming in an inebriating satisfaction. Draco opened eyes of molten silver, and his bandages began to peel away from his face, his arms, his throat, shriveling up like drying paper as they revealed the faultless skin beneath them.

Draco leaned up to kiss him, and it was _perfect, perfect, perfect_. Harry swayed in a pool of contentment. There were no more rules, no fighting this, just Draco's lips, Draco's tongue, Draco's neck.

"We're going to be late to our first classes," said Harry sheepishly, as they broke not for air, but precious lucidity, and Harry acknowledged the growing discomfort between his thighs.

"We are," Draco concurred, causing Harry's eyes to widen.

Then Harry climbed up and kissed Draco fervently, buried him in kisses, worshipped Draco's shoulder, his throat, his earlobe, as piece by piece, they shed their clothes.

Draco's body was beautiful. His hair was so fine and blonde, it was almost invisible. His skin was faultless, smooth, and unblemished. Harry nervously trailed his fingers along Draco's hips, hoping his excitement didn't push him to the edge. "I've...erm...never done this before."

"That's obvious." Draco held him captive with his burning, mercury orbs. He reached up to cup Harry's face, and proceeded to talk him through everything. Harry couldn't believe Draco could be nice; so patient. He had Harry at his most vulnerable, and didn't mock him at all.

Harry absently ran his fingers along Draco's slim body, watching as the other teen became flushed. Harry liked all the unfamiliar sides of Draco.

He liked when Draco instructed him thickly, reassured him breathily, like he could hardly compose coherent words.

He liked when Draco's brows furrowed and cheeks burned, as he pulled Harry closer, with impatience and vigor. "T-there! There, Harry!"

He favored the times Draco was indecipherable, pupils blown, yammering incoherently, yammering _Harry_.

And he liked when Draco's head went back and his groan twisted into such a hoarsely erotic sound—Harry lost himself entirely.

When it was over, Harry laid there in a daze, his fingers absently tracing along Draco's spine. This was more than afterglow. This was true euphoria. Harry felt his mouth open and close.

He glanced at Draco, who was sprawled on his chest, still gorgeously flushed and _fucking adorable_. Draco was different now. He seemed content and peaceable. Harry knew it wasn't permanent, so he tried his best to savor it, as he brushed back strands of blonde hair. "How was I?" Harry asked nervously.

Draco looked up at him. A faint smirk crossed his lips. "Decent."

Harry reddened. "Oh."

Grabbing his wand from Harry's night table, Draco muttered a quick cleaning spell. He then sat up with a wince.

Harry's chest tightened. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," said Draco dismissively. He wore an unfocused look, but blinked it away.

"Right," said Harry. He nipped his lip, not too certain about post-coital etiquette, what with his experience being limited to, well, _that_. "Do you want to cudd-"

"Potter."

Harry frowned at the use of his last name. "Yes?"

Draco was looking at the wall. "My boggart is a zombie version of you," he said, and with less bite than he'd probably intended. Instead it came out too quietly. And Harry was not sure Draco would have confessed it at all was his guard not presently in shreds.

"Oh," said Harry, momentarily stricken by the arbitrary and rather bizarre revelation. But he tried to make sense of it. He thought of the Quidditch accident. He thought of the shield spell. And then he understood.

Harry traced Draco's cheek where a burn had been. "Er...don't...worry?" It was a feeble suggestion and didn't offer much reassurance, not when the whole of the wizarding world was aware of Harry's impending confrontation with the Dark Lord.

Harry wanted to say that everything would be okay, but he didn't want to lie to Draco. This was too new, and he liked it _too much_.

Eyes still averted, Draco continued to stare at the wall. Finally, he gathered his clothes, got dressed, and left Harry there oscillating between bliss and dread.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco vanished a bit more of Bullstrode's hair as nearby Slytherins giggled. Bullstrode abruptly turned around, looking at them suspiciously and oblivious of the growing bald patch in the center of her head. She then returned her attention to her Alchemy textbook, and so things proceeded in the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco was bored. He found that he could not focus on his books. Discreetly raising his wand to further contort the hairy-to-bald ratio of Bullstrode's scalp, he paused when an adolescent cat hopped into his lap. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched and he lowered his wand.

"What the hell is that?" said Pansy.

"It's my cat," said Draco as he scratched the animagi's ear.

"I thought that was a stray," said Blaise.

"His name is Specs. He's stupid and smelly and pretty incompetent." Now Draco tugged the cat's whiskers tauntingly.

The cat hissed and bit into the sleeve of Draco's robe, making sure to tear through the fine material.

"'The fuck, Specs!" Draco lifted his sleeve and the cat dangled off it by the teeth.

"He's adorable," said Pansy as she detached Specs from Draco and settled the feline on her thighs. She rubbed the underside of his chin, the cat lifting it to allow her better access.

Draco's expression contorted with rage. He quickly snatched Specs back. "He's very attached to me. It's rather pathetic." The cat released a disgruntled meow as it was squeezed.

As Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and the cat stared at him, Draco became conscious of the way he was hugging Specs to his chest, much the way his future counterpart had done so in the newspaper. Draco felt his face burn. "Come along Specs. I must punish you for ruining my robes."

The cat meowed and struggled as it was carried off to the sixth-year dorms.

The next morning, Draco tensed as his curtains were drawn back. He was nude with his sheets drawn to his hips. Sleepily, he reached out to the spot on the mattress beside him, but his hand made contact with no other body. Reluctantly, Draco opened his eyes to see Nott standing beside his bed, peering down at him.

"Malfoy is your cat alright? He's walking funny."

"Yeah he is." Draco smirked.

"I know your family murders people and all, but I cannot condone animal abuse."

"Trust me, he deserved it." Draco got up despite his nudity and walked over to where "Specs" was meowing and scratching at the door. He opened it and the animal scampered off. He was beginning to warm up to his new pet.

*

Harry's life had taken a very strange and satisfying turn.

Suddenly Draco was pulling him into empty classrooms and broom cupboards every chance he got. During joint classes, Draco gave him this blank, unsettling stare, practically devouring him with his eyes. Harry tried to avoid meeting his gaze, which was all he could do to keep from developing a bulge in his robes.

Harry was useless when they were seated next to each other. Any time the class was taking notes, Draco would pull him close and nibble his ear while taunting him quietly, whispering, _"Harry."_

And the moment the professor turned back to the class, Draco would be taking notes again, a bored look on his face. Harry would be flushed and fidgeting in pants that had become several sizes too small.

Draco was different when they were alone, in a bluntness and diffidence that conflicted with each other and made Harry wonder how much of Draco's control was feigned.

And Draco would inform him that, _In private it was no longer about torturing Harry. In private it was just about **using Harry's body.**_

 _Using me,_ Harry would think. _My body._ He shuddered. And for some reason he didn't mind.

"Draco," he managed, that day in the library as he tried to shake the dirty thoughts from his head.

"Potter?" Draco drawled.

Harry winced. "Can you choose one, and er, use it consistently?"

"What?"

"My first name or my last."

Draco looked up from the magazine he'd been reading, a sadistic smile crossing his face. "I like them both."

"R-right then." Harry squirmed in his seat. He took a glance at Draco's reading material. "What are you looking at?"

"Houses."

"What!?" Harry choked.

Draco idly flipped another page of the real-estate catalogue. "I saw it in Pansy's dorm."

"What!?" Harry repeated, his jaw clenched. As Draco ignored him, Harry took a breath and swallowed his jealousy for later regurgitation. He didn't want to lose his temper now, it was too soon in the…er…acquaintanceship. He would have to find out what Draco was doing in Parkinson's dormitory later, and with a cooler head. Harry glanced back at the catalogue to distract himself. "Draco, those are castles!"

"Mm."

Harry tried to process it and was left stunned. Draco was looking at properties. He wanted to live with _Harry!_ It was the closest Draco had ever gotten to anything resembling commitment, and such a rare development, it might never happen again. Harry knew he had to capitalize on it, even though—Merlin—they were only sixteen. "That—that's g-great," Harry stammered, hoping he didn't look as terrified as he felt. "I already have a house actually. W-would you like to...to...to...m-move..."

Draco was barely paying attention. He flipped another page.

Harry gulped. "Actually, let's take this one step at a time. Draco, I'm glad you're warming up to me. And I wanted you to know that I l-lo-"

"I have to go," said Draco coldly, slapping the magazine shut. He grabbed his backpack and left without another word. Harry blinked after him.

*

Potter had asked him to move into his house. Potter had nearly professed—

Draco was extremely disturbed by these developments. Potter was clearly out of his mind.  
They were barely acquaintances and occasional lovers...until the times that they were lovers began to overlap the times that they were acquaintances, and soon Potter was saying all these strange things to him.

They lay in bed that night, in the Slytherin sixth-year dormitory, curtains sealed shut by magic, and a silencing charm concealing their gasping breaths.

Draco was the first to recover. He began to hastily hand Potter his clothes, startling the brunette who had been happily dozing off.

"Draco—what-?" Potter propped himself on his elbow and raised a brow.

Draco absently gazed down at the invisibility cloak in his hands. "I have visions sometimes," Draco said, before catching himself and snapping his mouth shut. He hated how he became a blabbermouth directly following sex. He got strangely pleasant and conversational and Potter seemed to lap it up.

"You do?" said Potter.

"Mostly of Teddy."

"The little boy?"

Draco nodded.

"Do you see Molly too?" Emerald eyes widened with excitement.

"No," Draco deadpanned.

Potter's expression did not change; it was fastidiously controlled. Then he looked at Draco thoughtfully. "What else do you see?"

Draco resented his paleness as he felt his face heat up. "Nothing…" he said shadily, "…stuff."

Potter's lip twitched, because he knew all about Draco's discomfort with emotional intimacy. "I see." Potter continued to study him. "What's Teddy like, then?"

"Any other baby," said Draco impudently. "Annoying. Needy." He pushed more of Potter's belongings into his arms, hoping he would get the hint and go.

"Why are you pushing me away?"

Draco didn't deny it, partly because he was physically pushing Potter out of the bed.

"You keep me at a distance," Potter continued, struggling against Draco's shoves. "Why can't we be together?"

Draco's paused. "What?"

"Tell me. The real reason. Not because I'm _Potter_ , or that I'm a 'walking atrocity.' Or that you don't have feelings for me. Tell me why."

Draco did not know how to respond, and so he was silent.

"Because I'm a half blood?"

"No," Draco heard himself respond.

"Because your family hates me?"

"No."

Potter bit his lip. "Because...because of the glamour on your left arm?"

As Potter touched it, Draco's skin crawled, and he snatched his arm away, chagrined for some reason. He sat up completely. "If we—get any closer, _he'll_ be able to see."

"Everything comes back to _him_ , doesn't it?" Potter frowned. "But you do want to get closer?"

"Absolutely not," said Draco. "This is purely entertainment, Potter. You're all but dead anyway."

A pulse of magic ran through the air. It was warm; dizzying. Releasing a groan, Draco collapsed on Potter's chest.

"Sorry." Potter curled an arm around Draco despite it. "The Order can protect you. And I promise that I won't…er…" Even then, he was committed to his martyrdom.

Draco shook his head. "What is this anyway?"

"Draco," said Potter weakly.

"First get through the dark lord," grumbled Draco, as he felt calloused fingers draw back his fringe. "And then get back to me."


	14. Chapter 14

One day they would be more. Would they? Maybe. Draco was still trying to figure out how to balance their present relationship with the forecasted one. He felt a pragmatic impulse to plan and model their futures based on his early knowledge, though emotionally, his mind hadn't caught up. He alternated between admiring real estate and lapsing into panic, unable to rationalize the thought of him and Potter actually being _family._

It was not only disturbing, it was ridiculously dangerous. So rather than indulging in anymore thoughts of it, Draco continued to compulsively flip through houses, and hope that he didn't encounter one that was familiar.

The door slid open. Draco looked up from his window seat in the compartment he shared with Pansy, Crabbe, Blaise, and Goyle. Potter held his gaze. "Can I have a word?" he said politely.

Blaise sneered, Crabbe glowered, Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust, and Goyle smiled amiably.

"School's over Potter, Draco's dick is soft now," said Pansy.

Potter glared and reddened.

"Get out of here Potter. You reek of inadequacy," said Blaise.

Draco nonchalantly hid his face behind his magazine.

"Whatever you have to say to Draco, you can say in front of us!" said Crabbe.

Goyle stuck his pointer finger into his mouth in thought, came to a decision, then shuffled over to make room on the bench beside him.

And then there was an uncomfortable silence, Potter remaining stationary, and looking affronted. He drew himself up, as though to make an undignified departure, before Draco finally lowered his magazine and marveled at them all.

"Get out!" Draco snarled, snatching up his wand and throwing hexes at his friends. "Get the hell out!" He leapt to his feet and took chase as Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle shoved past Potter and hurried off, one of them sobbing. Draco had almost pursued them into the corridor when Potter caught his arm, and pulled him back into the compartment, a stunned look on his face. But Potter's shock became smugness and he appraised the blonde appreciatively. "You're mad for me. _Literally._ "

Rolling his eyes, Draco stuffed his wand back into his robes and returned to his seat.

Potter slid the compartment door shut and cast a locking charm, before sitting beside him, absently placing a hand on Draco's knee. "I wanted to—"

Potter was cut off as Draco kissed him. He began to undo Potter's robes.

"—talk." Potter managed, pulling away and holding Draco back by his shoulders.

Draco's face darkened. Had he known that Potter wanted to gab incoherently, he would not have bothered with kicking his friends out.

"A request," Potter continued, looking idiotically hopeful.

"You are in no position to be asking for anything," said Draco, planting his hand firmly on Potter's groin.

His face reddening, Potter squirmed away. "Just hear me out," he said with a nervous smile. "I want us to follow along with whatever we know is _supposed_ to happen in the future." His eyes were burning bright with ill-advised confidence. Somehow he knew he had Draco in the palm of his hand. "The future is important to me. You too, I think. Maybe?"

Draco turned to the window and made a noncommittal grunt.

"Right. Anyway, even though Dumbledore said that we have the ability to change things—I don't want to. I want...you. And Teddy, and Molly, and—everything. Our family. I hope you'd agree. Er...you do agree, don't you?"

Draco stared out at the passing forestry. He felt as though he was being asked to commit deeply. To give up any remaining sense of free reign he'd had on his life. It had already been compromised by the appearance of Molly, and then the visions.  
Draco absently ran his finger over his left forearm. It could be worse, he supposed.

Wasn't this, essentially, a choice? A big one. One that would change everything. But it was a choice all the same.

"Draco..."

Potter's words made sense but he wished they didn't. Potter was trying to seal their future. Potter wanted him. Wanted _Draco_. And he wanted everything they had learned about the potential of the coming years. In words. A guarantee. But why now? What was he planning? "Do you miss her?" Draco deflected, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Potter's face fell. "Of course I do."

Potter was the only one Draco could relate to in that regard. Sometimes he felt sick, missing Molly. And often Draco found himself thinking about Teddy, even when he wasn't dreaming of him. This was all a mess, all dangerous and exhausting. Why couldn't things be what they pretended it to be— _nothing_.

"Draco, a lot is going to happen. But I don't want it to throw us off course."

 _Us._ Draco frowned at the concept.

"Do we have a deal?" Potter asked warily.

Finally Draco turned completely to stare at Potter, who looked stubborn and handsome in his vulnerability. Draco didn't answer. He just sat there.

Potter exhaled deeply, and looked down, his hands gripping his thighs. "Are you sure you want to go home?" He revisited his earlier invitation. "There's plenty of room at Grimmauld. I want you to be safe, and—Please don't go."

The silence went on, Draco's eyelids fluttering as Potter's nervous energy filtered through the air. In contrast to Potter's earlier request, this was not a matter that Draco had a choice on.

Potter's hands twitched on his lap. He lifted them to take one of Draco's, and he idly began to stroke along the blonde's radial artery.

"Courting you has been a living hell," said Potter quietly. "At least don't undo all my hard work. I can't fall off my broom every time you tire of me. Amusing as that would be for you." He kissed Draco's wrist, his palm, reverently. "I think we're good together—convenient, I mean. I've been stealing your Potions notes, is what I'm trying to say. And last week when that fellikweed burst in your face during Herbology—that was me. I don't know why I did it, I guess I was bored. It was _funny_. I've also been stealing your robes one by one and putting them in Neville's closet. Poor bloke thinks he's gained weight. I was just wondering how many times you'd order for new robes before you'd notice they were going missing, but you never did. _Never_. It was astonishing. It was as though you could just keep replacing them indefinitely like some posh, airy lunatic and it was endearingly demented.

"Anyway I think kisses should be free." Potter was rambling, like he was building himself up for something, or fearful of running out of time to ramble. The train was slowing down. "Like, lifetime access with no question. No matter how much time passes. They're mine, you know? And also I love you." Potter reddened and did not avert his face from Draco's hand; couldn't see how Draco's cheeks burned as well. "And I think, I _promise_ , everything's—everything's going to be okay."

The train stopped. Potter gave him a quick kiss, and then another.

And then another.

This was goodbye. His tie slipped from Draco's fingers as Harry got up, and left.

Wiping his eyes.

And so ended things.

*

Over the course of several months, Draco sunk deeper and deeper into unacknowledged misery. He was sufficiently distracted by the relentless stress that accompanied being on the wrong side of a war.

By the time it was over, sixth year seemed like little more than a distant dream. And it didn't feel like it had been a year ago. It felt like it had been decades, and it barely mattered anymore, because he was fucking alive, and the dark lord wasn't, and Potter—

It had been a year, the war was over, and it was entirely bizarre to go home, and with nothing to show for the stress, anxiety, torture, scrutiny, and trauma, and Crabbe, and _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Draco vomited some bile in a nearby potted plant, and then he crawled into bed, shaking.

Merlin, he felt so old, so weary. He could hardly believe that he was days shy of eighteen.

He had seen Potter, fleetingly, but Draco could hardly care during the battle. He couldn't care now that the battle was over. They hadn't acknowledged each other, too weighted by curses flying and fucking bodies sprawled on the Hogwarts lawns.

Potter had died for a moment.

The shaking worsened.

Potter—had been about sex and escape. A childish romance. Draco wouldn't linger on something so frivolous. A year was a long time, after all.

Molly was just one of endless possibilities for their futures. It had been nice to experience it but now it was a sort of fantasy. Impractical. Borderline silly. After all of this, Draco just wanted to breathe, savor the solitude, and try to piece together what was left of him.

And that's what he did. He breathed.

A few days later, Draco crawled out of bed and cleaned himself up. He picked at the stale toast the elves had left on his nightstand that morning. He lifted the letters beside it—two left after hate mail and howlers had been filtered out and destroyed by the elves. He clasped them in thin fingers before walking out of his wing of the manor and through the endless corridors, making sure to avoid bumping into his parents, or anyone for that matter, because he was still trying to process how he felt about them now. He made his way to the expansive veranda in the back of the house where he sat on the steps, gazing into the perfectly maintained gardens but not really seeing them.

Draco looked at the two letters in his hands and examined them one by one.

The first was an acceptance to a Potions fellowship he had applied to during seventh year in some manic state of productivity. Severus had submitted a recommendation for him. Severus...who was dead now. Draco lowered this letter and lifted the next one.

Horrifyingly enough, it was an offer to join the Chudley Cannons. They wanted him to start straight away. Apparently they had sent a scout to the last Quidditch match before the battle, and had been impressed by Draco's performance. Which wasn't saying much, since they were the worst team in the league. And they had picked _Draco_. How utterly embarrassing.

Draco knew that in some alternate reality he had accepted the offer, though he wasn't sure why any version of him would do such a thing. Was it the war that had made him digress so drastically from his ordinary process of decision making? Was it something else, or someone—specifically?

He knew that he would thrive with the Cannons. The team would rise up from the ashes with his guidance to eventually win the League Cup.

But at that moment, Draco wanted none of it. His eyes flashed, and the letter burst into flame. Draco was not sure whether or not it was intentional.

He breathed through the unpleasant stirrings in his chest. The war was over. Everything was okay. The nightmares weren't so bad anymore. Draco stared at a peacock as it trampled about.

He noticed a black spot in his sight, as though he had been staring at the sun. He rubbed his eyes, but this only made the blotch worse. He resisted it. "Fuck," he hissed. But his eyelids sunk.

He was having a vision.

It was Molly.

She was eleven or so. The fact that she was standing on platform 9 3/4 seemed to corroborate this suspicion.

Molly was wearing a yellow sundress with a black shirt and black leggings—Hufflepuff colors. Her tangled hair was still long and blonde and went to her lower back. Her frame was short and slight, and she looked distressingly vulnerable. And she was too pretty. Her green eyes clashed against pale skin, harsh and vivid.

Draco felt his right hand clutching another's, but he couldn't see whose it was.

Beside Molly stood a teenage Teddy who, today, was sporting navy hair. If Molly was eleven, that meant he was fourteen, and he seemed appropriately reticent. He paid little mind to his family, his eyes wandering as a group of bronze-adorned girls strolled by.

"You with us, Ted?" Potter was standing to Draco's left, looking humored, and wearied, by the lines under his eyes. In his hands he cradled a toad, which he carefully handed to his daughter.

Molly promptly stuffed it into her pocket and she gave a mischievous smile. "I'll miss you both," she said insincerely, and Draco felt himself roll his eyes.

Molly threw herself into Potter's arms, and he swung her around, throwing Draco a grin. Potter wiped it away as he put Molly down. "I'll miss you too, my little menace," he told her lovingly. "Go easy on your professors, yeah?"

Next Molly crashed into Draco's waist. She had no Malfoy elegance to speak of, gripping his robes as he gave her a one-armed hug, his right hand still occupied by another, a smaller one.

She pulled away to kneel down to something at Draco's right as he and Potter exchanged looks. Potter looked melancholy but also a bit relieved. "You'll look after her, won't you?" he shifted his attention to Teddy.

"Sure thing," said Teddy, his eyes still roving around almost pathologically. He seemed to regain himself and gave them each a quick hug. He then patted something to Draco's right before he wandered off towards a pretty redhead.

Suddenly Molly was being dragged off by a girl with brown hair who was discussing the importance of getting good seats.

Draco's heart sunk as she started to disappear in the crowd of students clambering to get on the train. A ginger girl noticed and hurried over to complete a trio.

"I'd hate to see the three separated." Pansy had appeared. She was wearing a pencil skirt and a tight bun in what seemed the perfect impersonation of a slutty librarian.

Draco felt himself shrug. "They'll stay friends," he said unconvincingly.

"Depending on how much they want it." Weasley had come over. He elbowed Harry in the side. "Rose is a sure Ravenclaw. Brainy, that one."

"How disappointed do you think Molly will be when she's sorted into Slytherin?" said Potter.

Draco smirked and said nothing.

*

When Draco resurfaced, he gasped for breath, his heart pounding, and mind reeling. He hadn't thought he would ever see Molly again. In fact, he hadn't had a vision in over a year. He clutched his chest, lost as to what had triggered it until, _until_ he sensed a familiar presence nearby.

The potency of the magic sent a tremor down his spine, and filled him with fogginess. He felt someone sit down beside him. "Potter."


	15. Chapter 15

"Draco," Harry murmured, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer. "Shit, I missed you."

"You—"

Potter kissed him greedily, indulgently, like it hadn't been a year. He tilted the planet slightly enough that everything was off-balance, _irreparably, permanently_ , as Draco's insides-combusted and his brain melted, because there was no way anything could ever be this good again.

Draco buried his face in Harry's shoulder, and savored the contact, refusing, _refusing_ to let go. Potter was shaking with laughter, or sobs, Draco couldn't tell. And it was sad. And Draco was desperate for more. For contact. Validation. He wanted to grab Potter by the scruff and drag him up to his bedroom even if his parents saw and gawked and burst into dazzling conflagration in their antique armchairs.

Instead Draco pulled away somehow. "Fuck you," he spat, climbing to his feet. He aimed himself for the door and slammed it shut behind him.

*

Against his better judgement, Draco joined the Chudley Cannons. And well, if anything, it was a distraction.

His first practice was truly shocking. The chasers couldn't have gotten the quaffle through the goals if the hoops were the size of houses and guarded ineptly by a deceased giraffe. The beaters squeezed their eyes shut directly before swinging for the bludgers, and were more likely to hit their teammates than the actual balls. The keeper could barely fly, and acted as though her broom was a bucking cheetah. Draco was too busy gawking at them in morbid amazement to look for the snitch. But then he spotted a flash of black hair on the otherwise empty stands, and nearly crashed into Burnett, who was still wildly swinging his beaters' bat.

"Holy shit," said Minnick, one of the chasers, as she came to a halt.

"Is that Harry Fucking Potter?" said Snyder, a beater. "Watching our practice?"

"Malfoy are you seeing this?" Peterson, the team captain, said, "I don't think he's here for _us_."

"Hey! He could be here for _me_ ," said Jones, the keeper, as she straightened her hair.

"He's not into birds, Rita," said Burnett. He turned to Draco. "Or so I hear. I was a year ahead of you at Hogwarts. I heard the rumors, you know. You two used to _fuck_." He grinned.

Draco's cheek twitched.

"I can't blame you, Malfoy," Jones pouted. "He's got a sweet ass." She craned her neck to check out said ass, and Draco's twitching worsened.

Before Draco could figure out what the fuck he was so angry about, his teammates were descending towards the stands, and he had no choice but to follow. Potter surveyed him, smiling wearily until Draco landed with all six of the other Cannons serving as a barrier of sorts.

"Mr. Potter, it is an _honor_ ," said Peterson, shaking one of Harry's hands with two of his massive, clumsy ones. "Thank you for your service!" Potter's whole body seemed to thrash with the violence of the handshake and Draco released a snort.

Har-Potter delicately tore his hand away. "There's nothing to thank me for." He flashed a smile, one that didn't extend to his eyes.

"You're welcome to join our practice. Give us some pointers." Peterson winked.

Draco reddened with indignation.

"Oh no, I couldn't," said Potter, as the team closed in tighter and continued to fawn over him.

"I can't believe it! Harry Potter!" Jones laid her hand on his arm.

Harry cleared his throat. "I actually came by to have a quick word with your seeker."

The players fell silent, and parted almost magically, but Draco swiftly turned and began to stride off for the lockers. To his consternation, he could hear Potter following.

"Draco..."

Draco pushed his way through the doors and made to slam them shut, but Potter was right behind him. Draco backed away and sneered at the Chosen One.

"A word?" said Harry.

"Why don't you have a word with Jones," said Draco hotly. "You two get along well enough."

Potter blinked and furrowed his brows, before lightly shaking his head. "Erm, no." He ignored the diversion. "Draco, Voldemort is gone."

Draco still flinched at the name.

Harry smiled apologetically. "And I wanted to follow up on our...agreement."

Draco refrained from hexing him. "What do you want?" he said coolly.

"You."

Draco swallowed. "I'm not a sodding commodity. You can't just decide you're in the mood to pick one of me up. I'm not a bloody means to an end either. Sixth year was—a fucking fantasy. It's been a year, Potter. I'm afraid to disappoint you, but w-we're—" _A flash of baby Teddy. Taking staggering steps. Crashing to the floor_. "—we're not—"

"Are you okay?"

"Sod off!"

"If you agree to dinner. At—at Grimmauld. Um, Saturday. Please?" Potter entreated.

"Harry..."

And Harry was clinging to his every word. Up close, he was not as confident as he had looked gazing up from the Quidditch stands. He was a wreck. Damaged. And in his eyes was that jadedness Draco had seen exclusively in his visions. Where did he summon the energy to beg? "I'll stop by," said Draco with a reluctant sympathy.

Relief flooded Harry's face. Draco hastily dodged an attempt to kiss him. The brunette recovered with an awkward chuckle. "Right. Saturday, then." He grinned.

"Saturday," Draco echoed. He grabbed his duffel bag and left.

*

Everything had to be pristine, no— _perfect_. Harry had been cleaning all night, not that it at all improved the decrepit sense of the place.

He spelled Walburga Black's portrait silent, though she actually seemed rather appeased that a proper Black pureblood might be gracing the property.

He had Kreacher set the table with more fancy utensils than Harry knew what to do with, and brought up the oldest wine he could find in the Black family cellars.

In the center of the dining table stood a vase with a single red rose. Harry had arranged it meticulously, revisited it, then adjusted it some more. Was it subtle enough? Would Draco hate it?

Harry went to the living room and paced, and stared into the mantle. He chewed his fingernails, only stopping when he pictured Draco's look of disgust at Harry's gnarled nails, and Draco's own perfectly-manicured digits, and Draco's white blonde hair, and Draco's—

The doorbell rang, and Harry nearly retched from pure nerves. He smoothed down his forest green robes—the color he knew Draco liked on him—and aimed himself for the door, determined not to end up on his face somehow.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned the knob, and Draco casually pushed past him. He looked around and wrinkled his nose, before sweeping his way to the dining room, a pile of scrolls under his arm. Stunned, Harry followed.

"Where's Teddy?" said Draco nonchalantly as he continued to look at everything with distaste.

"Oh, with Andromeda." Harry blinked. "I'm actually fixing up a room for him. I'm going to start keeping him—"

"Four days out of the week. Yes, I know." There was a clattering as Draco dumped his scrolls on the table, where they rolled everywhere, and even messed up the perfect arrangement of the utensils.

Harry wrung his hands. "What are those?"

"Contracts," Draco drawled. "I wanted to sort out all the details, before—you know."

Harry, in fact, did not know, and he would have said as much, had Draco not continued:

"My solicitor can meet with you and yours at your convenience if you find it necessary. For the moment, I suppose I'll summarize." Again Draco glanced around the antiquated environment. "The house will do for now, but it's not a permanent arrangement. It really is quite ugly, and old.

"The parental duties can be split down the middle. Well, we'll talk. You seem to have more of a knack for that kind of thing. And as a disclosure, Potter, I do not change nappies.

"I refuse to have any of your ridiculous muggle devices in my living space. Don't think you can convince me otherwise. I will not live in a household where you think it appropriate to..."

Harry's mind was reeling. His brain tried and failed to keep up.

"...want sex three times a week at the least. I want to get fucked, specifically. And at least once a week I need you to—"

"Wait," Harry cut him off, feeling dizzy. "Wait, we're getting back together?"

Harry jumped as the vase exploded, the rose dropping limply to the table. Draco had not moved, but his eyes were a burning metallic beneath his fringe.

"What the fuck is the problem!?" Draco demanded.

Harry cowered reflexively, feeling overwhelmed. It was like there had been a role reversal, because suddenly he was overcome with panic and Draco was the certain one. "I was just expecting to have to do backflips for you to be with me. Over weeks. Maybe longer. I...er...didn't expect—"

"This isn't Hogwarts anymore," said Draco coolly. "You said it yourself. The dark lord is dead."

Harry swallowed. "Right. Sure, um...no chance of just letting things happen...naturally?"

"I'm not waiting anymore," said Draco, resigned.

"You don't have to," Harry blurted out, his heart threatening to break from his chest. Draco wanted him, blatantly. Harry's whole body felt warm. This was not what he had been expecting at all, and it completely rearranged his plans, leaving him full of nerves. At first Harry had been worried about getting Draco back at all. But now he was being given an ultimatum. "Can I...kiss you for a start?"

Draco looked irritated. He even turned for the door

"I love you."

Draco paused, looking guilty now. He turned back to Harry.

For someone who had shirked commitment for the better part of a year, Draco was being rather impatient about it now. But thankfully he walked over, and allowed himself to be guided to the living room, and joined Harry on the couch. Draco glared with half-lidded eyes on his lap as Harry planted a lingering kiss on his cheek. It bought an iota of time but then Harry was anxious again.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous," Harry admitted, as he pulled the box out of his robes. He gulped. "Will you bond with me?"

As Harry opened the box, Draco lifted his eyes to the simple white gold band, and looked stunned that, perhaps, Harry was more prepared than he was.

Draco took the ring and slipped it onto his finger, after which he paused, then removed a silver band from his opposite hand. It must have been a family heirloom. Or perhaps Draco had been prepared as well. It didn't matter to Harry either way. His head swam as Draco slipped the silver band onto his finger. Now they both adorned rings, gold and silver.

Draco kissed him lightly. "Ready?"

"I...yes?" said Harry weakly.

Draco wore the faintest smile, and Harry realized something good had come out of the war. They intertwined their fingers and put their foreheads together as they muttered the incantation that would bond them.  
Harry said it from memory. He knew Draco would be impressed. He felt their magic connecting, both wrapped in heat, until they were harshly breathing, noses touching, eyes closed as they savored the sensation of being corrupted by the other's power.

"Wow," breathed Harry, finally opening his eyes again.

Then it was all slow kisses, with an increasing desperation they had no choice but to indulge. Harsher kisses, and hands, fingers, tongues, bruises, and _fuck_ , he had Draco.

The blonde in question tried to pull away, to drag Harry up to a bedroom. But Harry wouldn't let him. "Draco..."

"I know."

And so Draco allowed himself to be pulled back down onto the couch. And they completed the bond.

*

The next morning, Harry abruptly sat up. He looked around, but found himself alone. Briefly he feared it had all been a dream, only he was...naked. And Harry certainly didn't make a habit of passing out in the Grimmauld living room nude. Well, not often.

Harry gripped at the sheet that had fallen to his waist. Draco must have thrown it over him. Harry bowed his head and stared down, though at nothing. So it was really true. He traced the ring on his knuckle. They had bonded. And now Draco had gone.

—To the next room, apparently. He walked in wearing just his shorts and undershirt, and looking delightfully disheveled. He sat down beside Harry and passed one of the two mugs in his hands. Black coffee, and it was amazing, though admittedly, Harry had yet to taste it.

Harry obsessed with the way Draco's side pressed his so casually. He fidgeted, trying to maximize their skin-to-skin contact as Draco watched blankly and continued to sip his drink. Finally, Harry resigned and rested his head on Draco's shoulder, nuzzling, and enjoying as Draco reflexively cringed. _Ticklish_. Harry heard him sigh and rest his mug on the coffee table, and Harry braced himself for the scolding.

But there was none. Draco reached up and idly ran his fingers through Harry's hair. And at that moment, Harry was so deliriously happy, he had to choke back a sob. It didn't make sense to feel this good anymore. Not after—after everything that had happened.

He closed his eyes as Draco continued to stroke his hair, and things were utterly peaceful for just those moments until, finally, Draco pulled away, and started as though to leave and as Harry began to sag again, intending to curl up and try to relive the past minutes, he felt the mug of cold coffee being removed from his hands.

Harry sat straighter, intending to say something, _goodbye_ , when a light kiss brushed his lips, and he melted back into gooey ineptitude.

"I love you," Draco said, holding Harry's gaze warily, as if to make sure he understood.

Harry's throat tightened, and he couldn't have spoken had he tried. Instead he bit his lip and managed a weak nod. With that, Draco got up and left Harry to slump back, gaze on the ceiling, and realize his life had changed drastically.


	16. Chapter 16

A few days later, Teddy was spending his first day at Grimmauld. Draco walked into the living room and abruptly spat his tea. "Harry, he hates that toy!"

"What?" Harry looked up from the bawling infant on the floor, a garish rattle in hand. "But I literally just bought it."

"I've got it from here, thanks Potter." Draco lifted Teddy and walked off.

As Teddy cooed, where he was cradled perfectly in Draco's arms, Harry stared after them in shock.

*

As the years passed, they settled into normalcy. Harry became immersed in his career, and Draco returned the gesture mostly to spite Harry. Interestingly enough, he was fairly good at it. And by twenty, he had embraced a post-game routine.

"Everyone's going to Glenda's..." Minnick was telling Burnett in the locker rooms after a particularly grueling Quidditch match. It was their third win in a row.

"I better head home." Burnett grinned and shrugged. "It's my night to make dinner—"

"Your night, is it?" Draco cut him off. "How domestic of you."

There were muffled giggles from the other players. Burnett scowled.

"Not that I give the vaguest fuck, but you haven't come out once this season," Draco noted.

"I suppose I don't find any appeal in getting sloshed anymore. You'll get it someday Draco," said Burnett coldly, before walking off.

"Doubtful, Burnett. Have you met me?"

There were more sniggers.

When the Cannons apparated to Glenda's to get sloshed and _not_ cook dinner for their families, Draco smirked at seeing Harry was there waiting for him.

"Well done," Harry grinned as he slid into their booth. Then he frowned. "You look flushed."

"I'm fine," Draco grumbled back, almost defensively. He watched in amusement as the Falcons' Keeper got increasingly drunk and belligerent, the wanker.

"Here!"

Draco almost jumped as a large glass of firewhiskey slammed down in front of him, some of the liquid spilling over the edges.

Draco slowly followed the freckly arm up to an equally freckly body, surprised to see it was Weasley who had offered the drink.

"You did alright out there," said Weasley grumpily, looking pink.

Draco wrapped his fingers around the glass. It was a peace-offering. "Indeed," he said smugly. The redhead rolled his eyes and plopped down.

But rather than drinking, Draco found himself staring into the glass.

Harry, immersed in a conversation with Peterson, absently wrapped his arm about Draco's waist and stroked his stomach.

"Potter," Minnick called, motioning for Draco to join her at the bar. She and some other players were getting shots.

Suddenly consumed by panic, Draco abruptly got up. "I'm...er...going to the loo," he answered the confused looks, before walking off to the bathroom, then immediately apparating home.

*

Teddy was two, and doing quite well. Harry was still bitter about Draco's supernatural parenting skills. Draco knew what Teddy needed before the child knew himself and Teddy had learned to call Draco "papa" even before he learned the easier syllables of "dada."

Despite it, Teddy's preference for their company had switched to Andromeda when he realized she would indulge him relentlessly and spoil him rotten. Teddy especially favored chocolate. He would eat it near-frantically on the few times he had access to it at the Potter residence.

The Malfoy family loved Teddy but could hardly stand Draco anymore. They were bitter about Draco's affinity for lightening-scarred wizards, and that Draco seemed unconcerned about his prospects for a legitimate heir. Draco did not mind the animosity, in fact finding it amusing. It probably didn't help that his respect for his lineage had plummeted in the wake (and during) the war. So much so that he had even taken Harry's last name.

And being married to Harry was not as atrocious as Draco had anticipated it being. They bickered constantly, tried to kill each other regularly, and the sex was brilliant, so they hardly minded the fights.

And both were getting better emotionally. The quantity of nightmares between them was at an all-time low.  
Harry's alternating sadness and jadedness had slowly given way to his old self, or a facetious offset of it. Draco was rubbing off on him in a sarcastic and sinister way. Draco especially loved torturing him, and more than Harry enjoyed torturing him back, Harry thought it important to defend himself. And so he was up to the challenge.

One evening, unexpectedly, Harry dragged Draco to the Burrow, where the blonde was manhandled with ginger embraces, and stuffed into a ginger woman's gigantic bosom, after which he spent most of the night trying not to touch anything. As payback, Draco lured Harry into a bathroom off the Burrow dining room for a quickie, but instead vanished the Savior's clothes. Harry was forced to come out gripping a hand towel to his bits as everyone gawked and Molly Weasley screamed bloody murder before promptly collapsing face-first into her famous shepherds pie which Draco had not touched.

Potter later convinced Teddy to go ginger-haired and freckly for a week. Draco trained Teddy to say rather rude and inappropriate things.

Potter solicited Goyle for details on Draco's close childhood friends, a variety of house elves. Draco dragged Harry out to a nightclub with some Slytherins and spent the whole night grinding on Pansy.

Further, Draco convinced Harry to attend dinner with his mother, who glared frostily as Harry affixed his gaze to the tabletop and struggled to determine the correct fork with which to gorge his quiche. In retaliation, Harry shagged Draco that night in the Slytherin's childhood bedroom so thoroughly as to ensure that all human and house elf alike within a five mile radius had heard. Unfortunately, this, of course, backfired on Harry, who was forced to suffer Narcissa discussing appropriate coital-volumes the following morning during breakfast as she and Draco calmly sipped their tea.

The following day, Harry flirted liberally with Jones, Draco's hated teammate, and speculated whether she would make a better seeker than chaser on the team.

Draco took Harry out to dinner and claimed pregnancy.

"R-really?" Harry stammered for the fifth time, looking wobbly.

Draco followed him out of the Grimmauld floo. "No. Of course not."

Harry's jaw dropped.

Perhaps Draco had gone too far. After that, the fights disappointingly took a sharp decrease in frequency, Harry submitting in most disagreements and becoming strangely solicitous. He stopped returning Draco's hexes or throwing his Potter-tantrums. He gave Draco practically whatever he wanted at any moment of any day.

Sometimes Draco tested Harry's patience, and made increasingly ludicrous and inconvenient demands. Only after Harry went to Egypt to buy Draco a chocolate kettle, locally, did Draco begin to truly get irritated. And yet Harry would not be baited anymore.

Draco was midway through the Quidditch season anyway, which was a welcome distraction from the lack of distractions. Draco immersed himself in practices. The Cannons were doing well, and had developed a surprisingly large following. People were romantics, and gravitated towards underdogs. The affiliation with The Chosen One always helped as well.

*

"I'm avoiding Potter," Draco said, walking out of Nott's floo following a match. Draco was, in fact, avoiding Glenda's, but same thing. "He's been annoying lately."

Nott was lounging on the couch with his bint-of-the-week, and looking at Draco in shock. The bint was the Healer Draco saw for team check-ups and the occasional hangover draught. Lovebad. Loathgood. Oh right, it was Loony. Loony smiled foggily at Draco as he dropped onto the couch between them.

Nott's consternation slowly gave way to a smirk. "Is that so, _Potter?_ " he mocked.

Draco glared. His friends could never seem to get over the fact that he had changed his last name. With a flick of his wand, he lit some lamps. _Why are they sitting in the dark?_ he thought irritably as he lifted the bowl of crisps from the coffee table and began to stuff handfuls into his mouth. "Do you know that prat brought me flowers the other night?"

"Horrifying." Nott rolled his eyes. "—that you seem to have adopted his manners."

"I know," said Draco, ignoring the latter part of Nott's statement. "The git."

"Maybe he's just trying to mollify whatever it is that fuels your dysfunctional marriage?"

Furrowing his brows, Draco turned to Loony to see if she agreed, but she simply gave Draco a dreamy smile. "Do you know that you have wrackspurts?"

"What, where?!" said Draco, writhing furiously.

"Oh." Loony's face went blank for a moment, then the smile returned. "My mistake. It's something else."

Draco glared at her, though he had long accepted that she was a weirdo. But Loony always signed off on his medical reports, so she generally served her purpose.

As Draco stuffed another handful of crisps into his mouth, Nott stood and wrinkled his nose while brushing crumbs off his lap. A wicked smile crossed his face. "You know Draco, with the way you're eating, soon you'll be too _fat_ to play seeker."

"How dare you!" Draco threw the ceramic bowl. It ricocheted off Nott's head causing him to collapse in a daze.

Loony continued to smile contently. "A word, Draco?" And before he could respond, she stood, grabbed his hand, and pulled him off to the next room.

*

The following afternoon, Harry beamed and waved him over to the doors of a restaurant. "I missed you yesterday. You must have gotten in after I fell asleep. I—"

"I hate you," Draco cut him off.

Harry blinked.

"You Godric damned piece of shit, you fucking tosser—"

"Draco!" Harry motioned to a family with children walking by, the parents sending them reproachful expressions.

Draco swallowed. "Just kidding," he deadpanned.

Harry coughed. "Right." He opened the door and Draco followed him inside.

They were meeting for a quick lunch during a scarce break Harry had from the Auror's office. Harry had suggested the hole-in-the-wall they presently occupied, and Draco looked around it disgustedly. But he tried his best to be polite.

Harry gave him a peck on the cheek. Draco had to detach Harry's hand from his stomach, to his annoyance. He pointedly sat on the opposite side of the booth and tried to remind himself that it wasn't Harry's fault he was being handsy. His magic was just becoming acquainted with her again. Harry shrugged it off, and began to fumble with a scroll, distracted by his work as usual. Draco looked at the menu and tried not to cringe at the disgusting offerings. He couldn't eat this crap.

Perhaps sensing Draco's bitterness, Harry looked up. He smiled affably as he lowered his scroll. "So your team's doing great. I can't believe you made it to the quarter-finals," he practically fawned. "Everyone's excited to see you face off with—"

"Harry."

"Um, yes?"

"I'm…" Draco trailed off, reddening. "I have to go." And he fled.

*

Draco walked out of the bathroom and froze at seeing Harry in the otherwise empty locker room, Teddy on his hip. He must have used his Chosen One status to gain access.

"Papa!"

Absently, Teddy was passed from Harry's to Draco's arms.

"You've been avoiding me," said Harry.

Draco did not deny it.

"I saw they brought out your sub," said Harry, in reference to the quarterfinal game currently underway in the stadium outside the building. "Are you alright?" He scrutinized Draco, his eyes filled with concern.

"I was just running late," said Draco, smoothing down his Quidditch robes. But he knew he didn't sound convincing, and he could feel some sweat still on his temple. "It's been a busy season." He tried not to look as nauseous as he felt. They could hear the cheering of the crowd from here, and he did his best to ignore the announcer's rude speculations.

_**"Draco Potter is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the pressure is too much? He's facing Puddlemere, after all. If the Cannons surrender now, they'll barely have enough points to..."** _

"No one will judge you if you sit this one out."

Draco scowled, even as Teddy began to pull on the corner of his mouth. "I'm fine." He detached Teddy's hand. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Teddy started to tug at his hair now. Draco embraced the child tightly if just to pin his arms at his sides. Teddy giggled.

Harry watched. "You've always been so attached to him."

"I rather missed him."

Harry smiled tightly. "From your visions."

Draco nodded, his hair hanging in his eyes. "I knew him before he was even born." He sighed. "Sometimes I hate being a bloody seer."

He returned Teddy to Harry, and pushed out of the building. He could hear Harry following, but his boot steps were drowned out when one side of the crowd erupted in cheers. The Puddlemere side bellowed down scathingly. Harry disappeared into the sidelines as Draco mounted his broom and ascended. The cheers became deafening.

The Cannons won the match, and just in time, because Draco was getting nauseous again. As the team touched down on the ground, Draco found himself buried in a collective embrace, the snitch crumpling in his hand.

*

When Draco awoke the next morning, Harry was sleepily hugging his waist. Draco groggily tried to squirm away, but only managed to rouse the other man. Harry didn't even realize when he was doing it. He didn't see how he was drawn to her magic, consciously or not. Draco laid back in annoyance, and resisted the urge to jinx the prat. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep.

Draco sighed as he felt a kiss land on the crook of his neck, Harry sucking the skin just enough for a smile to tug at the blonde's lips. Kisses peppered Draco's shoulder, then chest, and then his stomach, where they lingered. His stomach, which was no longer concave as it had been before, but now filled out, looking healthy, but uncharacteristic of him. Harry sprinkled the flat skin with kiss after kiss, and Draco's smile fell.

"We're going to see a healer," Harry murmured.

"Why?"

"You know why."

Draco scowled and removed himself from Harry's arms. Occupied by a new wave of nervous energy, he walked off to the kitchen and proceeded to destroy it. He tore the sink from the pipes and topsided the fridge. He smashed the counter to bits, and exploded the table top. Spell after spell crashed violently with the furnishings. Finally Harry walked in, his jaw hanging. Draco glared and stalked off.

*

Flipping on his broom, Draco narrowly avoided a bludger. He felt a sense of déjà vu as the snitch tightened in his grasp. He bit his lip, trying to suppress a smirk, and it seemed the whole crowd was screaming. This won the Cannons the semifinal. One more game and he could finally relax. One more game, and—

Something hard struck the side of his head. The snitch fell out of his hand. His eyelids fluttered, like when he had visions, but this felt heavier. The world blurred.

He could feel the air rushing against him now, whipping his hair back from his face. He saw the grass racing towards him, the field Wizards hurrying forward, and then he could feel the tingle of magic in the air.

Blackness.

The screams were louder, if that was even possible, and he was…

He was curled in Harry's arms. Fans, players, reporters, were all pressing, reaching, shouting questions, but Harry was pushing through them. A door opened, then closed, and all noises ceased, except for Harry's footsteps. Whispered voices, a white curtain. Draco felt himself being lowered to a bed.

He was oblivious of how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again. He looked around the familiar room. All was quiet in the medical bay. His eyes flickered to Harry who was seated in a nearby chair, studying him silently.

"Thanks," said Draco, his voice hoarse. "You caught me."

"No." Harry countered. "The field wizards had it under control."

"Right." Despite his dizziness, Draco managed to sit up. It was a mistake. His hand flew to his mouth, and in an instant, Harry had a bed pan under his chin.

But Draco was far too dignified to have a vomiting fit in front of his husband. He got the nausea under control, his stomach turning. The room fell into some moments of silence, Draco clutching his abdomen, and Harry continuing to thoughtfully examine him.

"I'm fine," Draco managed unconvincingly. He pushed Harry's hand, with the bedpan, away.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "At least the bludger only hit your head."

Draco sent him a scathing look.

"You know what I mean. You're--we're--"

"Pregnant." Draco nodded. "Loony, um…" Perhaps it was best he didn't mention the one-sided screaming match he'd had with the healer after she had revealed the "wonderful" news.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I suspected."

Draco appraised him. Harry's boyishness had faded over the years. He looked sharper, and was certainly leaner from the fitness requirements of his job. He was wearing his professional robes even then. Yet he hadn't missed a game or practice in weeks. He'd been worried.

"I tried to finish the season," said Draco blankly.

"You should have talked to me."

"I know."

Harry looked surprised that Draco would admit any wrongdoing at all. Then he stared off for a moment. "Right. Molly."

"Yeah..."

"Draco, can I..." Without waiting for a response, Harry wrapped Draco in his arms, holding him tightly. "I can almost feel her magic."

"Mm." Draco lowered his head.

"How do you feel?"

"Irritated," Draco grumbled. "But relieved. Sometimes I worry...I'll never see her again."

"Of course you will. She's with you right now." Harry pulled back. Now he was smiling, his face aglow, the way it had been when he'd finally caught that bastard Neville Longbottom. "Right then. I'll get Luna." But he embraced Draco again, showing no indication of doing what he'd said, and leaving Draco to wonder who Luna was.


	17. Chapter 17

Draco enrolled in the Potions fellowship he had been offered some time before. The program was all too happy to accept the deferred admission of a Potter and Draco quickly learned all the protective spells that would ensure safe brewing.

In the meantime, the Cannons lost the League Cup, or so the Prophet reported in it's vivid account of the team's humiliating loss. It speculated as to whether Draco was to blame, and so did the public. They demanded explanation for Draco's abrupt hiatus, and even made claims that the opposing team had paid him off.

Draco meticulously avoided the press though it wasn't easy now that he wasn't allowed to apparate anymore. One of his fellowship locations did not have access to the floo network, which was how Draco found himself surrounded one day in wizarding London. He did his best to ignore the reporters as he strode off.

"Mr. Potter, was this part of an evil plot to throw the match?"

"Draco darling, how much did the Harpies pay you off?"

"Draco, why did you retire?"

"I did _not_ retire," Draco heard himself snap. He came to a halt as he was surrounded from all sides, and he glared around at the reporters.

"Were you too scared to face Ginny Weasley in the final?" asked Rita Skeeter.

Draco clenched his jaw. "Yeah, when hell freezes—" He abruptly stopped and covered his mouth. The cameras pressed even closer, lights flashing as reporters yammered, all their voices overlapping in an indecipherable babble. Draco slowly lowered his hand, trying to breathe through his nausea. He pushed his way through the crowd and walked briskly into the nearest shop. He used their floo without even bothering to ask permission and went to Malfoy manor, since the Grimmauld floo could only be accessed from specific locations. He would have headed home from there, but his nausea had reached the tipping point. Draco ran into the nearest bathroom, barely noticing his mother's surprised face as he passed her in a living room.

After an hour of being violently ill, Draco found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, all Malfoy elegance dismantled. This was definitely punishment for something. He ran his hand through his messy hair. He wasn't cut out for this. It was stupid. His hand slid to his stomach where it revisited the small convex there. _Merlin, this is actually happening._

There was more of that persistent knocking of his mother's outside the door. She had been fretting about him since his arrival.

"Draco."

But it wasn't his mother anymore. That was Harry's voice. Draco winced and got up, quickly washing his mouth out and smoothing down his robes. Finally, he opened the door. "What are you doing here?" Draco's eyes narrowed. Harry had left work directly. He was still in his Auror robes.

"Your mother said you had stopped by," said Harry, green eyes assessing him.

"Did she?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Well you can fuck off, _dear_. Just because I'm up the duff doesn't mean I need a fucking babysitter a-and—" Draco's eyes widened. He quickly returned to the toilet.

"You're in a charming mood," Harry entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Draco threw him a rude hand gesture as Harry leaned back on the counter and waited for the vomiting to subside.

Afterwards, Harry helped pull Draco to his feet and gave him a glass of water, which Draco drank gratefully. Draco leaned heavily on the brunette, feeling pathetically drained.

Harry pulled away and offered him his arm. It was disgustingly sentimental.

Yet Draco clung to it, feeling as though he would collapse otherwise. He allowed himself to be guided back to the living room where mother was waiting, her porcelain mask tainted with unmistakable concern.

Draco glared at her, daring her to say a word.

Harry flashed an apologetic smile. "We're a little under the weather—" The fucker always addressed anything to do with Draco's condition to encompass them both, like they were going through the same thing. "—and we need to get home. Can we use the floo?"

"Why don't you apparate?" said Mother, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Harry insisted on the floo. And though it was late spring, mother lit the fireplace without additional comment.

Draco was grateful when he arrived at Grimmauld, still gripping Harry's arm. He started off to take retreat in his lab, though Harry caught his hand and pulled him back.

Harry drew him close, and Draco melted into him. He found himself a leech for affection lately. _Sodding pregnancy._

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"Just morning sickness," Draco grumbled.

"Is it over for now?"

"I think."

Harry stroked his back. "We should tell your parents."

"I will." _Eventually._

The fire roared. "Harry? Mate, you there?"

Draco turned slightly to see Weasley's face in the green flames beneath the mantle.

"Sure, Ron. You can come through," said Harry, as Draco glared at him.

Seconds later, Weasley was clambering out of the fireplace with Granger in tow. In fact, he was gripping the woman's hand like a lifeline.

As the four stared at each other, an awkward silence fell over the room. Draco pulled himself out of Harry's arms.

"So..." Weasley started.

"Draco and I are expecting," Harry blurted out. Draco stared at him in disbelief.

"What!?" came Weasley's exaggerated response, though he didn't seem very surprised. "Hermionie and I are expecting too!"

"No way!" projected Harry, gesticulating wildly.

 _The hell!?_ Draco looked at Granger who seemed to be content and glowing, not a sick mess like he was. He felt a new surge of nausea begin to build in his gut.

"It's almost like we planned it!" said Weasley.

"Which we definitely didn't!" said Harry.

"We could exchange notes." Granger smiled at Draco.

"Our kids are gonna be best mates." Weasley dabbed his eyes with some tissue.

"No—they're—" Draco started, but it was simply too much. Covering his mouth, he hurried into the nearest loo.

*

Ever since the disaster at the 1994 World Cup, the European wizarding ministries held an annual meeting of aurors, lawmakers, and representatives from various Quidditch teams to discuss game security as well as the latest spells to ensure the safety of the players on the pitch.

Amongst the thirty assembled around the massive rectangular table, Draco was representing the Chudley Cannons being that Peterson was on holiday in Morocco until the new season began. Draco found it ironic that he was serving as interim captain when he had no intention or capability of playing Quidditch that fall. Of course, he had not announced it. He was hoping to put it off as long as he could, at least to hold off the press and rumors flying around. And if he could keep his condition secret indefinitely, that would do as well.

As a foreign minister droned on about the latest policies implemented so to ensure the prompt wrangling of potentially dark wizards and/or Longbottoms during Quidditch cups, Draco felt his eyelids begin to droop. A sharp pain in his shin woke him with a start. Draco glared at Wood, who obviously wasn't over his team's loss at the quarterfinals.

Draco tried to return his attention to the droning politicians despite the fact that he felt exhausted. He stuffed a cracker into his mouth.

At least the morning sickness was finally starting to wind down. He had been worried about the weight loss, but Loony said he was fine. Mol— The baby was okay, and Draco was only slightly underweight.

Granger, of course, had barely had any morning sickness at all. Whenever Draco saw her she always looked perfect and sparkling and Draco wanted to murder her.

Draco found his eyes wandering to Harry who sat across the table, looking irritatingly professional as he listened to the latest diplomat ramble on. Draco had taken to ignoring Harry, or treating him like a stranger most days. It was refreshing to see Harry in his crisp Auror robes, rather than as a rumpled, nervy, overbearing husband. Draco found himself staring at the man, the cracker in his mouth left forgotten in his cheek. Why did Harry look so _good_ today?

Harry caught his eye and the Auror flashed a grin. Reddening, Draco looked away, and gulped his cracker down.

In a matter of moments, though, Draco was staring again, and was somewhat startled when the meeting ended and people began to rise from their seats.

"Hey," said Harry, walking over as Draco stood. "Are you okay?"

"Um...yes." Draco laid his hand on Harry's arm.

Harry smiled, looking encouraged. "Great, I'm just going to speak to—"

"We have to go," Draco said firmly, giving Harry an intent look. Ignoring Harry's expression of bafflement, Draco began to drag him off to the floo by the scruff of his neck.

"Now that we've all had a small break, let us reconvene," croaked an Albanian curmudgeon who was practically decomposing where he stood. "Just to sign the final contracts."

Draco grimaced as Harry threw an apologetic look. The group reassembled, witches and wizards returning to their seats, Viktor Krum shifting uncomfortably in his ill-tailored brown suit.

"Raise your wands," Percy Weasley instructed, indicating a massive scroll lying across the table. "It'll just need a touch of magic from each of you. That's it." Soon thirty wands were beaming narrow streams until the parchment glowed.

As the light faded, Weasley frowned at the scroll in confusion. "Well that's odd. It didn't work."

"What!?" said a Spanish lawmaker in indignation. "No entiendo."

The prim Weasley waved him off. "It seems that someone's magical signature is compromised. It's too inconsistent to sustain the contract."

"Are you saying one of us is part-squib?" said Wood self-consciously.

"No, not that," said Weasley, giving Wood an odd look. "Just that one of you is drastically ill." Weasley glanced around. "Or pregnant."

The room froze, everyone looking abashed. Draco felt himself sink in his chair.

"Now who here is pregnant?" Weasley demanded. "Or dying?"

Everyone shifted uncomfortably.

Weasley gave the curmudgeon a suspicious look. "Don't be shy," he called out.

The room remained utterly silent, but the deranged Weasley was not to be deterred.

"Beckins? What about you?"

A young witch blanched. "What? N-no!" she sputtered.

"Patil, it's you, isn't it!? I saw you talking to Finch-Fletchley earlier!"

"Me!?" cried Padma Patil, appalled.

"Krum, you've been looking rather sickly..."

"Erm," said Harry, abruptly standing. Draco felt his face drain of color. "You see, Draco and I are...um..." Harry trailed off. "...dying!" he blurted out.

Everyone gasped. Oliver Wood fell out of his seat.

"I mean, expecting. We're expecting," Harry amended.

Everyone calmed down at this, but then began to ogle the Auror. Draco sunk farther, and hoped for his chair to swallow him whole.

*

For the next several weeks, it was the front page of every wizarding paper.

**_Harry Potter Pregnant!_ **

**__**

**__**

**_He's Positively Glowing_ **

The headlines were always accompanied by charming pictures of Harry waving awkwardly as he tried to edge out of the photo frame.

 _Stupid Potter, always stealing the spotlight,_ Draco thought, glaring venomously as the man in question stumbled out of the floo.

Also, thank goodness Potter always stole the spotlight.

"I brought you something," Harry said, before dumping a small mountain of chocolate frogs over the antiquated text Draco had been poring over.

Draco stared at the chocolate, dithered, and looked around for Teddy. The chocolate-addicted metamorphmagus was nowhere in sight. Without another thought, Draco began to scarf the candy. He almost gobbled down a Granger card before Harry managed to wrestle it away.

Harry always brought him snacks. Draco was sixteen weeks, and everything was going okay. Harry kept him well-fed and well-shagged, and supported his career as a Potions Master in-training. In fact, Harry made sure Draco was fully taken care of and had everything he wanted, which made it all the odder when he dropped the bomb.

"You're showing," Harry mentioned lightly.

Draco flinched and looked up from a potion recipe. "No I'm...erm..." He glanced down at his small belly. There was no point in denying it. It was now a clear bump in his robes. "Your point?" he said dangerously.

"It may be time to start telling people," said Harry gently, as he poured some tea. "Specifically your parents."

"Hm," Draco stalled, returning his gaze to his book. "It seems easier to just avoid them."

Harry gave a humorless smile.

Not seeing the words anymore, Draco swallowed. He had planned to tell his parents, but...he supposed he had been putting it off.

"The press is getting suspicious," said Harry.

"Everyone knows their word is rubbish."

" _This_ isn't."

Harry was right. People were beginning to notice. "After this week," Draco promised. "Just let me finish this fellowship." He patted his book and Harry acquiesced.

*

It turned out being two weeks before Draco would be dragged to the manor.

He and Harry stood in a drawing room waiting impatiently for Draco's parents. Harry wondered if it would be best to just blurt it out.

That's when Lucius walked in.

The Malfoy patriarch had recently gotten out following another stint in Azkaban. Rumor was that he'd had some tussles with Neville Longbottom behind bars, and by the looks of it, Lucius had not come out the victor.

Poor Draco seemed as though he was trying not to vomit at the sight of him. Lucius looked horrible. He was skinny and atrophied, his robes overflowing his bony frame. His eyes were sunken, dark rings around them. His face was more angular than ever, and there were some bruises as well.

Lucius had had no exposure to the media while in Azkaban. He didn't even know that Harry and Draco were together.

The man gave Draco a severe look. The two nodded to each other as they lowered to their seats. Harry followed, and Lucius threw him but a glance.

"You look good father," Draco lied coolly, breathing through what Harry suspected was clinical revulsion. "Um... _lean_."

Lucius snorted. "I see you haven't missed any meals."

Harry frowned and watched as heat rose to Draco's cheeks. For a fleeting instant, Draco's eyes glowed and he looked murderous. His hand twitched, and he seemed as though he fully intended to hex his father.

But then the apoplectic rage slipped away, with no trace, leaving Harry rather unsettled. Draco replaced his Malfoy mask. "Yes, I suppose I have gained weight," he said icily.

A house elf appeared. She lowered a tray of tea with biscuits, and also a tower of little sandwiches. Harry nervously stuffed one into his mouth.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Lucius glowered at Harry.

Draco poured himself some tea. "Harry and I are together," he said as nonchalantly as he might announce that the weather was nice.

"What!?" Lucius leapt to his feet.

Harry stood by impulse. Draco remained focused on stirring his tea as Harry resisted the urge to grip his wand.

"Don't be so dramatic, dear," Narcissa strolled in and settled into the seat beside her husband's, a wry look on her face. "This is old news. In fact, there's more. Tell him, darling." She nodded to Draco.

Narcissa offered a twisted smile, less mischievous than sadistic. She was a true Slytherin, Harry supposed. And clearly not over the whole marriage thing.

Draco visibly swallowed. He knew he risked being disinherited, and yet he said, "We're bonded."

"You're what!?" Lucius roared. "What were you thinking? Bonded to this—this disgrace! This half-blood traitor! Really, Draco? Harry Bloody Potter!? I'll disown you!"

"The baby too?" The room fell silent.

"Do you mean Teddy?" said Narcissa blankly.

"No," said Draco. "I don't."

Lucius emitted a choking noise and dropped back to his chair.

Harry nodded, feeling some of the tension in his chest uncoil. "We're a bit belated in mentioning...but we're pregnant." He returned to his seat and squeezed Draco's hand.

Narcissa gave a squeal, and a little clap, her reservations about the couple momentarily forgotten.

Lucius was not as easily placated. "Who specifically?" he asked, eying both Draco and Harry.

Draco reddened. "Isn't it fairly obvious?" he said threateningly.

Harry coughed. "We—"

Draco stopped him with a raise of his hand. "I am." His hand cradled his small belly as all eyes darted to it.

"You—submissive." Lucius was so angry he could hardly form sentences.

Draco's blush spread over his face and up to his ears. A muscle jumped at the end of his jaw.

"That—that's—" Harry stammered, knowing that he was red as well. "—not necessarily—w-we don't like labels."

"I'm sure you don't!" Lucius snarled, and stalked off. Draco stared after him, appalled.

Draco gasped as Narcissa embraced him. Slowly, Harry smiled.

"I _did_ notice you were getting fat, darling." She pulled away.

"Thanks," Draco deadpanned.

"How far along are you?"

"A bit over four months."

"Four! You kept it quiet for quite a while."

Draco nodded, looking away.

"I understand," said Narcissa sympathetically, taking Draco's free hand in both of hers. With that, she began to yammer uncharacteristically about bottles and nappies and little onesies, and _oh, the nursery!_ as Draco squirmed and Harry tried not to snigger audibly.

Harry reached out to lay a hand on Draco's stomach, the blonde ignoring him, used to it by then. As Harry absently rubbed the bump, Draco continued to converse with his mother naturally, though he seemed to want to talk about anything but the changes his body was going through. "My weight is good. So is Mo—the baby's. It's perfectly healthy. We're trying to stay on top of things," he mentioned, his voice aloof.

"Has there been movement?"

"I think...a little?" said Draco, to Harry's surprise. "Harry can't feel it yet," Draco quickly added, throwing Harry an apologetic look.

Narcissa melted yet more. "Do you know the gender?"

"Yes actually."

"Oh?"

"We're keeping it secret."

Narcissa smiled as though Draco was something adorable she wanted to squeeze. "Have you thought of names?"

"We're keeping that quiet as well," said Draco, embarrassed.

Narcissa sat back. "Well I'm surprised by how well-prepared you two are." She regarded her son. "You seem happy Draco."

Draco shrugged and Harry's heart fluttered as the blond confirmed, "I am."


	18. Chapter 18

_Draco entered the house as he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it out of his eyes, but it promptly fell back into place. It was getting too long, he knew. But Harry liked it that way. "I hope his hair isn't as messy as yours," Draco remarked absently._

_Harry walked in, carrying a large box. He set it on the ground by the door, before leaning over to kiss his husband's cheek. "I was kinda hoping it would be red," Harry murmured, resting his hand on Draco's belly. "Like my mother's."_

_As Draco cringed Harry began to unpack crib parts from the box. Draco knew the brunette was trying to get to him, punishing him for insulting Weasley the other day._

_"Yeah," he said shakily with an unconvincing smile. "Me too."_

_Harry grinned back sardonically, and—_

Draco gasped awake. "Shit," he hissed.

"Draco?"

"Just a dream," said Draco, or so he told himself. It had to have been a dream. The baby was a girl. Luna had already confirmed that last week. It had to be Molly.

Harry lowered his magazine. " _Just_ a dream?"

It couldn't have been his Sight. So Draco nodded resolutely. The hormones were messing with his head, as usual. "I'm never doing this again," he said as he lay back on the mattress. He rested his hand on his stomach and sighed bitterly. "I'm getting fat."

"Yeah," said Harry, vaguely amused. He returned to his literature

"You find this funny."

"No. I just think you're being cute."

"Fuck you Potter."

Harry lowered the magazine, wearing an intent look. "I mean...do you want to?" He bit his lip.

Draco stared. "Yes," he said flatly, as though it was a stupid question. Harry tossed the magazine aside.

*

Things seemed to be stabilizing. Or so Harry had thought.

Almost five months along, Draco was getting increasingly insecure. It probably didn't help that he was home alone all day when Harry was at work. The git was lonely, and Harry resented himself for it. Before Draco had been able to play Quidditch to stay occupied. Now, aside from working on potions, Draco seemed to be getting bored.

Interestingly enough, Draco started to get…creative, picking up new hobbies— _painting_ , specifically. Painting all the walls of Grimmauld...black, thus adding a stifling layer of darkness to the already creepy house.

So they definitely had to move now. _No big deal_. Teddy was utterly spooked. Harry didn't admit it, but he was as well. Soon Teddy adapted by transforming himself into giant lizards and other nocturnal creatures, which added to the horror aspect of it all and Harry's new proneness to minor heart attacks.

After the third morning in a row in which Harry had awoken thinking he'd gone blind, he padded about the corridor, trying not to bump into things, but failing. He found a lantern, and lit it, after which he released an undignified shriek.

"I is very much enjoying the changes Master Draco is making to the house, sir," said Kreacher, his huge eyes bulging in the firelight.

 _Of course Kreacher is encouraging this_ , Harry thought, clutching his chest. "Why are you standing in the dark?"

"I is waiting to see what the masters is wanting for breakfast."

"Nothing for me. Just coffee. Teddy will take cereal. And Draco will have, um...you know."

This seemed enough for Kreacher, who disappeared with a sharp crack. He appeared to welcome the challenge of Draco's inconsistent appetite.

With a sigh, Harry made a quick stop in the bathroom then returned to his and Draco's bedroom. He lit only a few candles being that Draco was still asleep. Then he trudged to his wardrobe and began to pull on some Auror robes, during which he paused.

His usually navy robe was now a bright yellow. Harry pulled out another robe. This one was baby blue! Harry went through robe after robe, all now brightly colored and gaudy-looking.

Harry revolved in place to see Draco was sitting up, one hand cradling his stomach. "I was bored," he answered Harry's silent question.

"You were— _bored_?" said Harry in bafflement, when something alarming occurred.

Draco's eyes glistened and he started shaking, looking close to hysteria, and leaving Harry stunned.

"I love them," said Harry flatly, immediately pulling on a robe at random—bright pink with the sleeves torn off.

Once Harry had managed to jerk the atrocity over his head, displaying his unimpressive arms, Draco's shaking subsided, and his eyes no longer looked watery. The blonde swallowed deeply. "Alright then."

_Right._

Once Draco hit five months, he started going through another phase. His behavior changed but did not improve, as his bizarre hobbies no longer seemed to calm his anxieties. Instead he became increasingly shy, shaky, and needy. He looked as though if Harry sneezed at him he would completely fall apart. Draco seemed to be perpetually verging on tears, and he attached himself to Harry, often asking Harry for unnecessary favors, of for Harry's input on things. Harry even found himself flooing home during his breaks at work just to check on his husband. He had never known Draco to be so dependent and it was entirely strange.

"And then last night he followed me all the way to the loo and stared at me while I was trying to pee." Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. "I couldn't, you know. Too much pressure."

Seated on the loveseat across from him in the Granger-Weasley living room, Ron was wearing a look of morbid fascination while Hermione's face crumpled in sympathy.

"Pregnancy is an emotional time for a person," Hermione said as she arbitrarily chewed a carrot. She had the same pink glow to her cheeks that Harry had noticed on Draco right from the beginning.

"He's taking the piss!" said Ron.

Harry had to agree.

"He's going through so many changes, he doesn't know what to do." Hermione's voice wavered dangerously.

"Draco's making you out to be a fool, mate," said Ron.

Harry thought that did sound like something Draco would do. He shifted uncomfortably in his aqua green robes.

"Be patient with him," Hermione entreated.

"Cut the crap," said Ron. "Or he'll walk all over you. And worse—you'll get used to it."

Harry frowned in thought. He did have the tendency of getting used to things.

"Oh—you utter prats!" Hermione stormed off, tears running down her cheeks.

Ron nodded to himself. "See that there. Hermione's a trooper."

Hermione did seem rather sane in comparison to Harry's own pregnant spouse.

"The ferret's being over the top and you know it. You gotta ignore him."

Harry nodded to himself.

"Besides, it's probably just another one of your sick perverted games!"

Harry blushed and dodged a flying boot. Ron clearly had not forgotten about the bathroom incident at the Burrow.

*

Harry was pants at confrontations, so he saw it best to be passive about things.

"Harry?" said Draco, standing in the living room entryway.

Pretending not to hear him, Harry continued to read through his Quidditch magazine. He passed by a photo of the Cannons, Draco looking sharp and icy in the center spot.

"Harry, I think there's a nargle under our bed." Draco twiddled his fingers and trembled slightly.

Harry resisted the urge to comfort Draco. Instead he continued to flip through the literature, now pausing at a Puddlemere spread.

In his peripheral vision, Harry saw Draco stare blankly, as though coming to realize he was being ignored. He blinked back tears, and it was as adorable as it was pathetic. Nonplussed, Harry could not help lifting his eyes but he quickly averted them again. So biting his lip, Draco turned and walked off.

Harry proceeded to ignore Draco's superfluous requests and clinginess for the rest of the day, until Draco was a wet-eyed jittery mess. But hopefully the phase would end now that Harry had stopped enabling it. Harry knew it was for the best.

That night, Harry reclined in bed beside Draco with a grateful sigh. He reached out, and Draco was all too keen to crawl into Harry's arms. A balance, it was. Harry sighed contently and closed his eyes, absently cupping Draco's belly. Harry would awake some hours later to a nargle hugging his face and trying to suffocate him in his sleep.

Over the next few days, Draco busied himself with making increasingly depressing potions. "A serum to make your spouse love you again," Draco explained of one, his voice quavering. "And this one makes the user slightly less disgusting and hideous and undesirable."

Harry simply planted a kiss on Draco's cheek. "Remember to cast the fume ward," he said cheerfully, giving Draco's belly a light pat. With that he headed off to work.

When Harry came home that evening, Draco was nowhere in sight. _Maybe he got over his nerves and decided to go out,_ Harry thought proudly. Draco had become a shut-in in recent weeks, going out scarcely, and only with Harry's accompaniment.

But as Harry walked through the house, he came to the horrifying realization that all of Draco's things were gone. After a panicked run-through of Grimmauld, Harry found a letter on his bed, and it was so smudged with tears, he could hardly read a word of it. The writing that he could make out included 'love' 'so much' 'hideous' 'hate me' 'sodding Granger' 'goodbye' 'forever.'

Harry nearly had a heart attack.

Harry's first stop was to Andromeda's. He begged her to keep Teddy for an extra day. He also asked if she had seen Draco, to which she gave him an odd look and disclosed that she indeed _had_ seen him, though she hadn't a clue where he'd gone. Harry asked about Draco's state, but Andromeda refused to say. Instead, she shuffled off to her parlor, dragging a gawking Teddy along.

Harry went to see Pansy and Blaise at their favorite bar by the ministry, where he encountered more roadblocks. Rather than helping, Draco's friends cursed him both verbally and with their wands. Harry hardly escaped with all his limbs as Dean Thomas tried to wrestle Parkinson's wand from her hands. Afterwards, Harry had to waste precious minutes trying to vanish the unicorn horn protruding from his forehead. And then he was off to the Manor.

Draco's parents were bemused.

"I have never seen my son in that state," Narcissa said, disturbed.

"He was incoherent," Lucius sneered. "Even his favorite house elf couldn't calm him down!"

Both blondes were eying Harry lividly.

"We tried to get him help, but he ran off. Merlin knows where he is now," said Narcissa.

"I swear Potter, if you don't find him, we'll have your bollocks!" Lucius raised his wand and started shouting unforgivables at which point Harry decided it might be time to go.

Harry asked about Draco all over town, and received varying accounts from people who'd had encounters with the emotional blonde.

"I'd never seen a Malfoy cry before. It was obscene."

"He was hysterical."

"Indecipherable."

"Inconsolable."

"Medically delusional!"

"Like a sad mime..."

"A depressed banshee."

"A chubby solicitor."

"Newborn hippo!"

"He was like a violent Moaning Myrtle."

"I'd never seen someone eat while crying. He said he needed the calories, but I don't know..."

Harry was devastated.

He even found Luna, who was seeing them through the pregnancy as Draco's Healer.

"I had to give him a calming draught. Poor thing was blubbering." Luna said knowledgeably. "Humdingers, I'm sure."

Harry nodded absently, biting his fingernails and wracked with guilt. _Oh Merlin,_ he thought, deciding to retire his efforts. His search was going nowhere and he would just have to hope that Draco would reach out.

Fully prepared to spend the evening moping to his friends, Harry was surprised when he stumbled out of the Granger-Weasley floo, and Hermione hugged him in relief. "Harry, you came!"

"Draco's here?" said Harry immediately. It was the last place he'd thought to look for the blonde.

Hermione pulled him into the dining room, where a middle-aged wizard was droning on in thick legal jargon as he indicated a massive pile of parchment while flapping yet more papers clasped in his hands. Ron was hunched over, his face planted against the mahogany table surface, as though he had been rendered unconscious by sheer boredom.

"Where's Draco?" said Harry.

The unfamiliar wizard spun on his heel to eye the brunette. "I am Master Draco's solicitor. You will not see my client without my presence. The divorce papers are all drawn up and ready to sign, right here, of course, there will be—"

"Hermione, where's Draco?" Harry called over the yammering man. He walked back into the living room but the solicitor followed, waving his arms, papers flying.

"—a 90/10 division of property in Master Draco's favor. He will also have Grimmauld Place and full custody of one Edward Teddy Lupin—"

"Harry!" said Hermione. "He's in the—"

"—if you fight it, there is evidence, you see. Some might characterize you as the heir of Slytherin, and one Mr. Justin Finch Fletchly has claimed—"

"—the guest room! Oh Harry, what did you do!?"

Ron released a loud snore.

"—drunk and belligerent. There is speak of 'Potter-tantrums.' Deranged and unhinged behavior. Sexual ambivalence—"

"SHUT UP!" Harry shouted.

The room fell silent, the fireplace and all the lamps going out. The solicitor ducked his head, shielding himself with papers. Ron gasped awake and looked around in confusion.

Releasing a huff, Harry stormed off to the guest room. He burst through the door, but relaxed at the sight of Draco curled on the bed, facing away from him, and sniffing. Trying to steady his racing heart, Harry walked around the bed to sit down on the edge of it. "Er...hi."

Draco opened his eyes and sat up. Harry could see that his face was tear-streaked.

"I miss you," said Harry, not thinking, just speaking. "I love you." And now Harry was crying as well. "Please come home," he took Draco's hand and squeezed it entreatingly.

Draco blinked, and his sniffles ceased. He wiped his face on his sleeve and suddenly he was that eerie beauty again, with no sign that he had ever been crying at all. "Alright then," he said, detaching his hand from Harry's, getting up, and striding off. "Weasley, I'm leaving!" he snarled.

"Oh thank goodness!" said Ron.

Stunned, Harry followed Draco past an irritable Ron, a sobbing Hermione, and a crestfallen solicitor. He clutched at his chest with one hand and gripped Draco's wrist with the other as he followed him to the floo. And for the remainder of the month, Harry became an indulgent sycophant.

And thankfully, Draco's phase passed.

*

Harry sat in the Manor, squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

"Look at you. You disgust me. You're nothing. _Less than nothing._ Human garbage. You're below me. Below a house elf. Below a _flobberworm_. No, you actually _are_ a worm. If it were up to me, you would stay away from my son. Look what you've done, you disgusting little insect. You destroyed this family!"

Narcissa cleared her throat. "That seems harsh, Draco."

Lucius' face was a mask of indifference but Harry could see that his eyes were full of glee.

"So I take it you don't want more tea, dear?" said Harry stiffly, lowering the kettle to the table between their chairs.

Draco pointed his nose into the air and turned away.

Harry's cheek twitched, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He wouldn't let Draco bait him. The blonde was just in one of his moods.

Harry threw a glance at Teddy, who had just turned three. Undoubtedly the child was used to Draco's odd behavior by then. Approaching his father, Teddy laid his hands on Draco's belly, and giggled. That meant movement. "Baby brotha or sistuh," Teddy murmured as Draco smiled back.

"My Draco, you're getting so big," said Narcissa, surveying him.

Draco's smile fell and his fingers twitched. Harry knew Draco was restraining himself from directing his hostility towards her. Draco was ridiculously sensitive about his weight.

Since hitting the six month mark, Draco had become an uncomfortable combination of randy and sadistic. He worked Harry weary, giving the Auror little time to sleep between sessions. In addition to that, he treated Harry like garbage. Harry almost missed the emotional-Draco, particularly during his afternoons at work when he was falling asleep at his desk. Harry had always wanted a large family, but had quickly determined that he and Draco would _not_ be having any more children. Teddy and Molly were enough.

"Merlin Potter, are you really just going to sit there gawking at me?" Harry lifted his gaze from Teddy, who was still feeling the baby move. "Make yourself useful for a change, you figging waste of space!" Draco censored himself only for the benefit of their audience.

Harry bristled with anger, but he tempered himself. "What would you have me do, _dear_?" He lowered his cup.

"Those windows are disgusting."

Narcissa looked cross at the implication that her house was anything but pristine.

"What are you waiting for?" said Draco. "Get to it!"

Harry was appalled. Somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut and count down from ten, feeling his reaction deflate in his chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Of course, sweetie."

Draco flinched at the pet name and Harry knew he was getting passive aggressive. He stood and lifted his hand, wandlessly summoning a rag and a bottle of glass cleaner. With that, he walked to the massive windows dominating one side of the room and started to...clean them.

"Miffy!" said Draco.

There was a sharp crack, and a house elf appeared. She had bulging brown eyes. "Yes master?"

"Supervise my husband!"

"Of course."

There was another crack, and Harry jumped as Miffy appeared behind him. He grumbled and continued to scrub, smudging the impeccable glass more than anything else.

Harry threw a glance back at the Malfoys. Lucius looked like he might burst into song. "How's the baby?" he drawled.

Harry was stunned. It was the first time Lucius had expressed any interest in the baby whatsoever.

Draco sniffed. "Fine. You know, heavy. Always moving. I can hardly sleep. My back is sore. Sometimes my ankles get swollen. And at night..." Draco's reticence went out the window as he went on about every possible discomfort he could think of as his parents nodded mechanically, their eyes becoming glazed.

 _At least Lucius is warming up to being a grandfather_ , Harry supposed. He couldn't have cared less himself, but it meant a lot to Draco. _Maybe there's an upside to being treated like a diseased erumpet_. Harry continued to bitterly clean, Miffy humming approvingly behind him or occasionally squeaking out commands.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco's eyes fluttered open and he felt incredibly groggy. It didn't take him long to realize that he was in a hospital bed. _Shit_ , he thought, his hands flying to his stomach. To his horror, he wasn't pregnant anymore.

 _Oh fuck oh fuck._ Draco's eyes stung. Something must have happened to the baby. He must have messed up somehow.

"Father?"

Draco stiffened at hearing the painfully familiar voice. He turned to his left, and there she was. "Molly."

Molly grinned, and pulled some of her long hair out of her face. "You're up." She fidgeted where she stood.

It was Molly as he remembered her. Five, or even slightly older. She was clutching a childrens broom and wearing Hufflepuff colors, right down to the yellow tape holding her broken spectacles together. She had the word BEATER in bolded letters across her chest. There would be no questions regarding her Hogwarts aspirations.  
Draco continued to appraise her, her pointed nose, and her buttons that were off-track, making her whole dress crooked. She leaned her elbows on the bed, tilting her head to the side. "Are you sad?" she wondered, looking more interested than concerned.

"No," Draco said, his voice thick with emotion. His hands moved of their own accord, and just before he could pull her closer, someone lowered a bundle into his arms.

Draco's eyes lifted up to see Lovegood leaning over him, only she looked a bit older, and also prettier—more attuned in her look. Draco's gaze shifted to the thing she had handed him...which wasn't a thing at all.

"He's a lot quieter than Molly was," Lovegood said of the tiny, squishy, dark-haired baby cradled against him. "If all goes well, you can take him home in the morning."

"Ah..." Fuck.

It was only then that Draco truly took inventory of himself. His hair was longer. He could feel it hanging on his shoulderblades. He felt weak, exhausted, and drained magically. He was in the hospital with Luna, Molly, and this obvious Potter-baby.

He was having a premonition.

"Where is he?" said Draco tetchily, wondering if he and Potter hadn't broken up or killed each other by then. "This—this is horrible," he stammered, trying his best not to look at the infant. He didn't want anymore children in the first place. And he refused— _refused_ to get attached to another person that he wasn't to meet for several years, if at all.

Lovegood frowned. "Draco..."

"You're awake!"

The door had opened, and Teddy entered, looking happy but nervous. He was nine or so, and a bit clumsy, if judging by the number of things he bumped into on his way to the bed. He leaned on the mattress beside Molly and smiled, before gently gliding his fingers along the baby's cheek. "Heh." Teddy's hair turned black, his eyes turning gray, and Draco couldn't help it. He looked down, and to his frustration, fell in love.

"You're not fat anymore," said Molly brightly.

"Er, no," said Draco, his eyes not leaving the infant.

"You were sleeping since _yesterday_ ," said Teddy.

Draco's cheek twitched. "Yes, well having babies is tiring, Edward."

Teddy scrunched his nose at the usage of his first name.

"Can I hold him?" Molly asked.

"Er…"

"Not yet Moll," said Harry, as he walked through the door. "But soon. I promise." Harry offered a smile to Lovegood as she slipped out of the room. He then lowered a garish orange bouquet on a table next to some others, before joining the kids at Draco's bedside. "The Cannons send their regards," he said, leaning down to Draco's lips. Draco felt heat crawl up to his face. This was not Harry as he knew him. This was future-Harry of his teenage fantasies, better built, and more manly than _his_ Harry was. Draco gripped his collar, fully intending to capitalize on the contact, feeling only slightly guilty as it went on.

Teddy sighed and Molly groaned loudly before Harry pulled away, a dreamy smile on his face. Harry's gaze shifted to the infant, who had black hair and gray eyes—no—eyes that were almost silver even in the synthetic light. The baby blinked up at them blankly, with those keen, observant eyes. Then he lowered them and smacked his lips. He looked like a chubby-faced Harry except his hair was soft and sleek.

Draco bit his bottom lip, almost dizzy with how overwhelmed he felt. It was probably for the best that Harry misinterpreted his expression and gently lifted the baby from his arms. "Think he needs a change," said Harry, as he sniffed the nappie. He then carried the infant to a table on the opposite side of the room.

The infant's behavior proved to be strangely regal for a newborn. He looked positively affronted when Harry put his nappy on the wrong way. Harry corrected the mistake and lifted the baby against his chest. "There he is," he smiled down at the soft hair. "Sirius."

"Sirius?" Draco repeated in horror, only to notice he was seated in the Grimmauld living room, and the vision had ended. He held his stomach. Sirius, like his dead convict cousin? Sirius, better known for his guilt than innocence? Merlin's pants! Draco chewed his lip.

Harry strolled by, but stopped. "Why are you crying." His face crumpled, like he might cry himself, the prat.

"I'm not—" Draco paused and wiped his cheeks, to find that they indeed were wet. He tried to shake the vision off, though he was just as likely to sprout wings and flutter about the ceiling while screeching and pelting birdseed. "Fucking hormones."

Harry was quiet for a while as he perused him. He sat down and stared at Draco, like something in his eyes gave it away. "You had a vision."

Draco swallowed. "I think."

"One where you were occupying your own body?" said Harry, rubbing Draco's shoulders and seeming to smooth away the tremors. "You're shaky."

Looking down, Draco nodded.

"Was it bad?"

"No. It was..." He trailed off. Harry still looked worried. By impulse, Draco embraced him, burying himself in Harry's robes. It was a rare show of vulnerability and he resented himself but he couldn't pull away.

"Was it good?" said Harry, his fingers lightly stroking his back.

Draco was still undecided on that.

"You've been having a lot of them lately."

"It's this damn pregnancy."

"What did you see?"

"I'll tell you later," Draco lied.

Harry sighed and kissed his head. "Oh." He smiled. "She's moving." And for a while, they remained like that.

*

Draco was seven months along when Harry finally got him to leave the house without his glamour. All of the papers were littered with news of the pregnancy anyway, along with various pictures of Draco crying around London.

Harry didn't like how drained Draco was after using a glamour all day. Besides, it was safer that people could see his condition so that they didn't bump or jostle him, or have mistaken expectations about his physicality. Harry had nearly had a conniption fit a week earlier when a clerk at a baby shop had handed Draco a large box with the bassinet in it.

It was better that people could see that Draco was with child. More specifically, that Harry had _put_ a child inside of Draco.

Harry told himself he wasn't garnering satisfaction from this as he kept his hand around Draco's waist all throughout a ministry function that morning. Sometimes he would move this hand to lay on Draco's very-obvious belly. Harry smiled and mingled like he had never mingled before as Draco wore a mask of apathy or drawled about how great it was to be knocked up with the Chosen One's baby, in a way that reporters lapped up and Harry knew was sarcastic. Still, Draco was faring better than expected.

Occasionally Draco _did_ have his tells that revealed his insecurities, such as when he blushed, or fidgeted, or fell into monosyllabic responses when someone mentioned how "healthy" he looked.

"You're rather smug," said Draco icily once they were back at Grimmauld. He was roughly unwrapping a massive bar of chocolate.

Harry's smug smile dropped. "Me? _No_." He aggressively shook his head.

Draco took a furious bite out of his candy bar. "And did you hear the minister? He called me fat!"

"Kingsley _didn't_ call you fat," Harry insisted. "He just called you huge."

Dracos eyes flashed silver, and the hem of Harry's robes started smoldering. With a yelp, Harry jerked them off. "He meant it in a good way. _Fondly_."

This did nothing for the randomized combustion. Harry pulled off his now-smoking shirt.

"Draco, you're pregnant. It's entirely reasonable for you to, erm, look the part."

"Look the part!?" Draco roared.

Harry knew there was no winning this argument. He was down to his briefs. "I have to go!" she said, and practically dove through the floo.

After a quick stop at the Granger-Weasley residence, during which he borrowed an outfit from Ron, Harry found himself walking around Wizarding London with his too-long robes dragging across the sidewalks. He was idling away, supposing he would give Draco another hour or two to cool down. It wasn't long before Harry found himself inside of a pet shop.

The sight of the owls made his heart clench. He often just used Draco's owl Balthazar, or the ones at the office. Harry wandered around to examine a variety of rats, kneazles, and crups. The sight of a snake gave him pause. "Hey."

The python looked surprised...or as surprised as a python could look. "Hello..." it drawled warily, uncoiling some of its length.

"I'm looking for someone to keep my husband company," Harry responded in parseltongue. "You see, we're having a baby—"

"A baby you say?" hissed the snake in interest.

"Yeah, and—"

"Where, when can I meet it?"

Harry frowned. "It's a girl."

"Boyss, girlss, I love children."

"Erm..." said Harry, with the uncomfortable suspicion that the snake wanted to eat his child.

"Excuse me, were you just speaking parseltongue?"

Harry looked up to spot a brown-haired wizard around his age. "Oh, sorry."

" _I_ speak parseltongue!" said the stranger excitedly.

"What? No way!"

"Yes way!" the stranger hissed in the snake language.

"This is insane," Harry hissed back. "I've never met another. Well aside from..." He trailed off gloomily.

The stranger appraised him. "Well now you have." He offered his hand. "I'm Chris. And you're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry nodded stupidly. He belatedly shook Chris's hand. He had bright brown eyes and his canines were a bit too long. But overall he was extremely attractive.

"This is kind of spontaneous, but...would you like to grab some coffee?" said Chris.

Harry hardly noticed that they were still speaking parseltongue. Several customers were throwing them frightened glances as the baby-eating python glared at Chris in jealousy.

Harry thought for a moment. He didn't have anything better to do. He looked down at his hand still grasped in Chris's, and blushed. "Why not?"

A few moments later Harry found himself seated in a cozy little coffee shop not far from the pet store. He was amazed by how easy it was to converse with Chris. They talked about Hogwarts, and Beaxbatons, where Chris had gone. Harry discussed his job as an Auror, and Chris talked about the amazing-sounding dessert shop he owned, and their specialty—treacle tart! And then the conversation moved to their favorite Quidditch teams.

"Magpies, of course," Chris nodded.

"Cannons." Harry gave a wry grin.

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Have they won the cup this _century?_ "

Harry shrugged. "They had a real chance this past season, but, erm, I suppose that was my fault." He coughed.

Chris gave him a quizzical look.

"Their seeker, Draco, is my husband."

"Oh—married." Chris's smile became tight.

Harry sipped his tea, feeling bashful. "We met at Hogwarts. He's my first and only serious relationship."

Chris seemed to be thinking. "The blonde guy, right? I always thought the last name was just a coincidence. He's pureblood, isn't he? I can tell. He always seems so prim and proper."

Harry snorted. "That's what he'd have you think. Draco's a complete arse. He's mean, snotty, and somewhat violent—"

"He hits you?" said Chris in shock.

Harry shrugged. "Hits, hexes."

Chris looked increasingly concerned.

"It's not as though I don't hit back. Well, not lately."

"Harry..."

"He's pregnant."

Chris surveyed him in silence for a moment. "Regardless..." he said gently. "The relationship sounds somewhat...unhealthy."

"It does, doesn't it?" Harry pulled a face and looked down at his tea. "We really don't get along at all."

"Forgive my audacity—but then why are you with him?"

"Erm...call me a masochist."

Chris frowned.

"No, really. I...love the way he...loves me." Harry reddened at his revelation. "I doubt that makes sense."

"A bit perverse, I think."

"No...er...Draco's unique. Actually, he's bizarre. I've never met someone who can love with so much hostility." Harry gave a crooked smile. "Maybe that's the kind of love I crave. He's unintentionally hilarious and hilariously adorable. He's gorgeous. And temperamental. And he loves me, even though he has no reason to, and he's been raised to despise me, and it's so against his nature that it's almost painful for him, but—he loves me."

Harry was hardly aware of the dreamy look that had crossed his face. "We are by no means compatible, but we make it work, I think? And...uhm...I should head off. I don't like leaving him alone too long. He's getting kind of huge." Harry motioned with his hands to indicate the shape of a large belly.

"Yeah," said Chris, with an awkward grin.

"Thanks for the tea," said Harry, getting up and walking off to the floo.

"Stay safe," Chris called after him.

*

Sitting in an armchair of the Grimmauld living room, Draco absently twirled his wand between his fingers. "...and I swear, if it wasn't for the fact that—" Draco abruptly paused, his face going blank, for which he received questioning looks from the assembled Slytherins. "The brat is kicking," said Draco dismissively, before going on about Harry's incompetence. "...and then he just gaped about stupidly—I _know_ —I'm not sure why I put up with the imbecile."

Pansy, Blaise, Bullstrode, and Goyle were presently sitting around on couches sipping tea, all of them being unnaturally polite. Pansy's lip quivered, but she quickly covered her giggles up with some coughs. Draco glared at her and immediately started bragging for the umpteenth time that his condition could only have befallen an _extremely powerful wizard_ , no one else—"I dare you to try it," he snarked to Goyle. Draco was the perfect mix of insecurity and bravado.

His friends nodded mechanically to his redundant declarations. "You're truly amazing," Blaise said robotically.

"I know," Draco agreed. "As I was saying, after the—Potter."

Harry froze, regretful that he had been noticed. He had been attempting to slip through the room and head upstairs.

With a sigh, Harry turned to face his husband. As usual, he was "Potter" in front of Draco's friends. The room fell into sniggers as Draco motioned for him to come closer. Draco wrinkled his nose at him. He got up with some awkwardness that Harry pretended not to notice. Draco wasn't awkward and ungainly. He was elegant and graceful (or so Draco insisted).

"What's that?" said Draco, his voice haughty.

"This?"

"What is it, Potter?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Draco sneered. "A _mutt_." He unconsciously wrapped his arms around his belly. It was protective and Harry found it endearing.

Harry wondered if Molly was still kicking, but he restrained himself from finding out himself. Not in front of Draco's friends. "Well it's a puppy." Harry brandished the miserable-looking brown dog.

"Puppy," Draco echoed with disgust.

"And a gift. I hate the thought of you being here alone all day, now that Teddy's spending more time at Andromeda's until the baby comes." Draco continued to stare at the animal. "It was so sad and lonely, it—it reminded me of you." Harry's voice quavered.

Draco looked at him as though he'd gone mad. "Potter...we're having a _baby_." There were more cackles from their spectators.

"And now we have a dog."

Draco's eyes flashed, and Harry could see the rejection swelling in his chest. In fact, Draco looked as though every fiber of his being was telling him to reject the dog. He looked outraged, _apoplectic_ , and then—

"Thanks," said Draco weakly.

The Slytherins gawked. Goyle's throat emitted a faint gurgling noise.

Harry grinned. He knew Draco was a sucker for gifts. "Isn't he cute?" He helped Draco cradle the dog against his chest. "I thought Teddy could name him. What do you think?"


	20. Chapter 20

Draco was eight months along and it was a full moon that evening. Seated in the living room, Harry and Draco blankly watched as Teddy ran in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs, the dog—inappropriately named Piggy—trotting to keep up with him.

Teddy tripped on the corner of the rug and fell down on his face, spread eagle. The puppy proceeded to jump on his back and playfully nip at his hoodie, revealing Teddy's flickering acid-green hair.

Though not a werewolf, Teddy had the tendency to get antsy during full moons.  
Several minutes into blankly staring, Harry lightly shook himself, and got up. "Coffee," he said, and hurried off to the kitchen.

Draco could have done with a glass of wine.

Gripping the arm of the couch, he got up, and nudged Teddy in the ribs with his foot. The child grunted, confirming that he was alive. Piggy yipped and wagged his tail.

Draco sighed and walked off, hoping to avoid the next round of hyperactivity.

*

Harry entered the nursery as he sipped from his mug. He walked over to the crib where Draco was standing, leaning on the railing to look down into it.

"I can't stand that creature," Draco muttered.

"Teddy?" Harry grinned.

Draco gave him an indignant look. "Pig."

"His name's Piggy."

"I refuse to call him that."

"It's his name," Harry intoned.

Draco wrinkled his nose as he was assaulted by Harry's coffee breath. "It's ridiculous."

"You know, you're a misnomer yourself. A human called a dragon."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Teddy too? A metamorphmagus named after a stuffed bear. Does that mean we should start calling you kitten?"

Harry's amusement dissolved as Draco stroked the shell of his ear. Harry leaned into the touch, knowing he enjoyed it more than a normal person would. "Specs is fine," he murmured.

"But you're not a pair of glasses."

"So you see my point."

"Piggy it is." Draco sighed, and redirected his attention to the crib. Harry mourned the loss of contact as Draco indicated the nursery with his hand. "I suppose it's finished."

"I guess. Yeah."

The nursery was rather simple, as both Draco and Harry had agreed that Molly needed a very _limited_ amount of stimulation.

 _She's like a full-moon Teddy,_ Harry mused with a wry smile.

White clouds drifted across the blue walls. Inside the crib with one of Mrs. Weasley's knitted blankets, and a stuffed bear from Pansy.

Draco reached down and smoothed his hands across the sheets. Harry noticed that he was gradually getting less abrasive lately. Instead, Draco seemed nervous.

Harry would take it. He just hoped the blonde wouldn't start getting emotional again.

He watched as Draco adjusted the blanket again, before he lifted the toy bear, scrutinized it, then put it back down.

Draco glanced up to notice Harry's knowing look, then turned away, a blush crawling over his cheeks. Draco was nesting, and Harry supposed it was better than Draco insulting him all day.

"You didn't sleep well last night. You should get some rest," Harry suggested.

Draco looked like he was about to retort, but instead he relaxed. "Mm," he agreed, dodging a kiss and walking off.

Harry smiled and found himself lingering in the room for some reason. His eyes drifted to the shelf against the wall, where Harry had placed a framed photo of himself, Draco, and Teddy. Harry looked exhausted in it, but Draco seemed amused. Harry had taken Teddy to see the Cannons face off against the Vultures—Teddy's two favorite teams. The metamorphmagus had not been able to sit still for one minute. The Cannons had lost, to Teddy's conflicting horror and glee. Draco hadn't minded. He looked as though they had won anyway.

Harry was surprised to see that there were other photos now, lining shelves they had supposed would be occupied with toys.

There was a photo of Lucius and Narcissa standing together, both poised, barely moving at all. Harry smiled as he spotted his favorite picture of his own parents, grins on their faces, as they danced outside in their fall coats.

There was a beaming Nymphadora and a more sedate Remus, smiling at each other shyly, the same picture that was kept in Teddy's room.

And then there were the single-person photos. An ill-mannered Snape was giving Harry a wary look. Beside him was Sirius, handsome and young, a mischievous smirk crossing his face. The defiance that defined him burned brightly in his eyes. Harry found himself studying the picture for a while. He was not sure where Draco had even gotten that photo. It left Harry warm all the same.

Harry blinked when he saw Draco's old potions text standing in a corner. He couldn't believe Draco had kept it all these years. He allowed his fingers to run over the gilding letters, his heart pounding. _Merlin, just another month._

As he leaned against the shelf, he accidentally jostled it, causing one of the photo frames to shatter on the ground. Harry staggered back in guilt. "Accio broom!" In only a moment, his Firebolt 2001 slapped against the palm of his hand. Beginning to frantically sweep the floor, Harry thought maybe he could bring in another picture of Teddy. A big one, of Teddy as a newborn. It could be the baby's companion of sorts.

"What are you doing?" Draco snapped.

Harry looked up to see his husband standing in the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Potter, are you nesting again?"

"Me? _No._ " Harry mechanically shook his head, barely registering that he was using his multimillion-galleon broom as a cleaning product.

" _Reparo._ " Draco pointed his wand, and the frame with Sirius gently fixed itself before flying upward to its place on the shelf. Then Draco held out his hand. "Harry, get over here. I _need_ you."

Harry's face warmed.

"—to rub my feet."

Musing that he would give the whole of the shelf a good scrubbing tomorrow—he thought he had seen a smudge on Tonks's nose—Harry took Draco's hand and allowed himself to be dragged off.

*

The dog was insufferable...and watchful. It yipped its complaints. After the third fit of barking, Draco knew it was the last warning before it destroyed something. "I'm almost done," he growled.

Piggy yipped back.

Ignoring the dog, Draco added some lacewing flies to his potion, his face lighting up from the glow of yellow within the cauldron.

Draco could hear footsteps upstairs, which meant Harry was home from work. The footsteps moved about then paused at the basement entrance. The door opened, and Harry came down. "Brewing?"

Draco didn't look up. "What else?"

"Oh, you know, _resting_."

Draco ignored him as he counted meticulous stirs.

"So what is it?" said Harry.

"Polyjuice for your department."

"Doesn't seem like a large quantity."

"It's concentrated. This is fifty doses."

A pause. "I've never heard of it being concentrated before," said Harry in surprise.

"It takes a very careful hand."

"That's—impressive."

Draco completed the final counter-clockwise stir and finally raised his head. He was met with green eyes, intent and admiring. Harry wet his lips. "So that's it for today?"

Draco frowned at him, but sighed. "Yes," he said reluctantly.

"Great." Harry put the potion in magical stasis, ignoring Draco's glare.

Draco stood with some effort. Changed balance and all. In an instant, Harry was beside him, one hand on his back and the other on his belly. His huge belly. His nine-month-pregnant belly.

"Harry," he grumbled.

Harry froze. "I just missed you." He kissed Draco's cheek. Then he leaned down. "Hi Molly," he whispered to Draco's stomach. Harry stepped back, letting Draco go. Reluctantly.

Draco glared yet more and walked to the stairs. He took them slowly because the brat weighed a ton. As he reached the top, Harry's hands wrapped around him. With an annoyed sigh he leaned against him, closing his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Harry murmured against his neck.

Draco felt the same as he had every day that month. Huge, exhausted, and uncomfortable. Instead of responding, he rubbed his lower back. "I can't believe I would do this twice," he mourned.

"What?"

"What?" Draco parroted, which only exacerbated Harry's confused expression.

Giving him a suspicious look, Harry pulled back. "I'll start dinner." With that, he walked off.

Inhaling deeply, Draco headed to nursery, musing that they would soon be responsible for another human being. But he had been missing Molly for a really long time. He hadn't admitted it aloud, but he was looking forward to seeing her again. More than he let on. _Desperately_.

"Draco come out, Ron's here," Harry called.

"You invited Weasley over?" said Draco in distaste. "He farts every time he apparates."

"No, Hermione _jinxed_ me to apparate with farting noises and a rotten egg smell."

Draco looked up to see Weasley leaning on the doorframe, his face weary and dark circles under his eyes.

Draco gave him a doubtful look. Then swallowed. "So how's your..."

"Rosie?" Weasley brightened. "Good. A bit smelly, but I don't mind much. She's at home with Hermione."

Draco sneered at Weasley's scintillating review of his newborn daughter. Of course Granger had given birth early to a perfect ginger bundle. A girl. Draco had even been forced to... _hold_...the foul creature. And despite conflicting accounts, he had definitely not started to dry-sob and held the creature hostage in a two-hour stand-off until the smell had gotten to be too much. No, that had been someone else.

"Come on then," said Weasley.

Draco scowled, resentful of the recent wary treatment.

When they walked into the living room, Draco blanched at seeing that almost the entire Weasley clan was present. He attempted to back away, but Ron—the wank stain—was standing guard of the corridor they had come from.

Molly Weasley immediately started fretting. "Draco, why are you on your feet? You look like you're about to pop!"

Draco clenched his jaw, feeling his face redden.

"Please, _please_ don't tease him," Harry entreated as he stepped out of the kitchen. He threw an apologetic look as Draco glowered at him.

Walking over, Harry rested his hand on Draco's lower back, guiding him to a chair to Draco's annoyance. Draco lowered himself in lieu of a public display of domestic violence. He didn't admit that it was a relief to be off his feet. Instead he fidgeted somewhat, and Harry's hand lingered on his back, rubbing, comforting, overprotective berk that he was.

Soon Dudley Dursley arrived with a pregnant Pansy. Blaise showed up arm in arm with Neville Longbottom's grand-mum. Theodore slumped in mumbling that Loony was stuck at work. Bullstrode followed shortly after, bitching that Theo was still shagging Loony. Several Cannons arrived, Peterson still moping about Draco's "completely unnecessary" hiatus. Even his parents had come, both nursing oversized glasses of wine Draco was certain they had arrived with.

It was as Draco had suspected. A sodding _party_. He sat there stiffly, refusing to engage with anyone.

That didn't stop the gaudily-wrapped gifts, awkward hugs, and unsolicited touching. When Draco refused to open any presents, Harry took over, carrying the emotional burden of the whole sickly affair. He smiled reassuringly as he unwrapped gift after gift.

There were garish children's clothes that Draco fully intended to burn. Dudley—who Draco quite liked—had given them a strange device he called a Playstation. There was a multitude of toys, and intricate jewelry pieces with protective charms. –"From Hermione." Weasley shrugged.

There were meticulously knitted hats, gloves, and blankets from Mrs. Weasley. There were two charmed mirrors through which they could monitor the baby from their room, from Pansy. There was a medical case with several vials of pepper-up (Burnett gave a wink. "You'll need it."). And curiously, there was a pensieve, and it was...suitable. Perhaps the most appropriate of them all.

Draco stoically examined the small foe-glass from Neville Longbottom's grandmother. He scrutinized the shadowy figure that looked suspiciously like Harry's profile. He ignored the knitted hats and charmed bracelet, refusing to be affected by the intimacy of the gifts.

Until Harry came over and pressed a small vial into his hand. It was full of a smoky, silvery substance, that Draco knew to be a memory.

"From me," Harry murmured against his ear as their audience cooed and heckled them irritatingly. "When I first met her," he whispered. "You deserved to meet her first." He pulled back with an apologetic grin.

Draco's heart pounded, the vial clasped in his hand. He nodded curtly and turned away, feeling a stroke of guilt tighten in his throat. Harry's smile softened and he directed his attention to their son.

Teddy was morphing distractingly. He was too excited to control his abilities. He walked up to Draco wearing Lucius's long hair and Harry's evening stubble. Draco's lip twitched as he accepted a stuffed animal.

"For baby." Teddy beamed, eyes going violet and chin smoothing.

"Thank you Teddy," said Draco quietly, his eyes flickering down to the stuffed dragon in his hands. "It's perfect." Molly would like stuffed animals. She would collect them, he recalled, and she would certainly appreciate—

"Oh." Draco's coiled nerves shot straight down to his stomach. His train of thought dissolved as he rubbed circles on it.

"How are you, dear?" Molly Weasley asked from her chair beside him, her eyes scrutinizing.

"Fine," said Draco, his voice clipped.

"Are you sure?"

Draco noticed he was still rubbing his stomach. He knew he was a bit flushed.  
He watched Teddy make a beeline for the kitchen as Harry announced it was time for cake. When the toddler tripped on the corner of the rug, Draco drew his wand by impulse and spelled the floor soft just before Teddy crashed against it.

 _That rug is going in the trash,_ Draco decided as Teddy began to bawl.

Harry picked Teddy up. "What are you crying for? You're fine," he teased, gently dropping Teddy back onto the pillow-soft floor, to which Teddy giggled, his hair turning black.

The rest of the room's occupants, however, had turned their attention to Draco.

"Why are you using magic so late in pregnancy?" Mother frowned.

"That's dangerous, Draco!" Jones reproved him.

"What were you thinking!?" Pansy sobbed.

At the extreme range of reactions, Draco gritted his teeth, breathing through his temptation to hex them all. "My magical levels have been good," he said coolly.

"That poor baby." Ginny Weasley threw Harry a sympathetic look.

"She's fine," snapped Draco, and he was rewarded with gasps. He had unintentionally revealed the gender. He furrowed his brows and Harry just smiled as the room was consumed by excited yammering.

"Oh Harry!" Molly Weasley got up and tearfully embraced the brunette.

Draco watched his mother dab at her eyes.

Father, meanwhile, was drinking liberally from his (self-refilling?) wine glass. As Draco had expected, he was not pleased at all.

Deciding it was good a time as any to make an escape, especially considering the increased risk of being hugged by someone, Draco gripped the arms of his chair and began to stand.

"Draco, darling?" Mother called. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fi-ohhh," he sunk back down, breathing. That had been a strong one.

The room fell silent.

"Did I mention it was a girl?" Draco attempted to divert them.

"Draco?" Harry approached. "Are you okay?"

"He might be having contractions," said Molly Weasley, as Draco glared at her. "We should get him to the hospital."

"No," said Draco firmly. There would _not_ be Weasleys present at his delivery. "I'm fine." He stood with some difficulty. "I have some work to do and—" _Dammit._ He hunched in pain, clutching his belly as Harry held him through it.

Once it passed, Harry glanced around, trying to find the most atrocious person available on such short notice. "Ginny, can you take Draco to St Mungos? I'll grab his things and get Luna."

 _No, no, don't leave me!_ Draco thought as the pain started up again. He squeezed Harry hard enough to break his ribs and burst his spleen.

Harry wormed out of his grip, the slithery bastard. "I'm right behind you."

Harry disappeared upstairs, and before Draco knew it, he was being manhandled through the floo by girl-Weasley.


	21. Chapter 21

"I'm glad everything turned out well between you two," said Weaslette, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. "Harry was always such a gentle lover."

"He was a virgin you lying bint!" Draco forced out in one breath. He gripped the thin sheets covering him.

"Oh that's right." Weaslette shrugged. "Maybe I was thinking of Dean."

_"Where is he where is he where is he!?"_

"Dean?"

Another contraction hit. Draco groaned loudly but the redheaded demon kindly muffled him, forcefully, with a pillow.

"There, there." She pulled back, Draco gasping for sweet oxygen.

Sitting back down at the bedside chair, Ginny flipped another page. "So is it true you got knocked up just to avoid me in the league cup final?"

"Of course not, you daft tosser!"

Weaslette threw him an incredulous look.

"Salazar, where's Harry?"

"Oh, didn't I mention? He got held up at Luna's. Something about wrackspurts."

"Fucking wrackspurts," Draco groaned as a new contraction tore through him. He took the liberty of suffocating himself on his own this time.

"I'm here, I'm here." Harry burst in.

"Harry!" Ginny got up and threw her arms around his neck.

"Oh Ginny, thanks so much," said Harry, spinning her around.

"I'm so happy and so excited," Ginny yammered. "How crazy is this?"

"I know. It's all a bit overwhelming."

Draco clutched the pillow tighter to his face, hoping to pass out.

"Well you have plenty of help if you need it. By the way, I love what you did with the nursery." Ginny laid her hand on Harry's bicep.

"Yeah? I was thinking it needed a bit more color."

"Oh no, it's _perfect_. I even think..."

Draco's muffled groans somehow bypassed the pillow. Harry blanched as he remembered that he had a spouse in labor, and unceremoniously pushed Ginny aside, causing her to collide with some medical equipment. He apparated the three feet to Draco's bedside, and with some difficulty, detached the pillow from the blonde's face.

Harry took Draco's tense hand in both of his. "Are you okay, love?"

Draco did not dignify that with a response. "Get—her—out—of—here!"

Harry directed his gaze to Ginny who was just collecting herself. "Sorry Gin."

Ginny gave an awkward smile and left the room.

Harry pressed his lips to Draco's hand, and duly worshipped it.

*

"Your turn," said Draco weakly.

Harry thought for a moment, absently stroking Draco's wrist. "Best sex you've ever had? Besides me of course." He grinned.

"Milly."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Milicent…Bullstrode?"

"She's rather rough—commanding."

"I think the meds are kicking in…" Harry looked for an escape.

"You know I'm, bisexual, and sometimes—"

"I—erm—we're not continuing this." Harry flushed, perhaps trying to vanquish the thought of Draco and Milly rolling around together in some shack somewhere. "Your turn. Ask me anything."

Draco waited for the latest contraction to end, face contorted, teeth clenched. "Do you ever wonder..." Draco breathed. "...how we would have gotten together. Originally. If...if it wasn't for Molly."

"Why does it matter?"

"Just curious."

"It could be anything." Harry leaned back in his chair. "Does it bother you?"

"Sometimes..." Draco tensed again, and Harry rubbed his back. The conversation tapered off there, Harry frowning in worry.

Draco did not know how much time had passed since his arrival at St Mungos, but it seemed like hours that he had endured this torture, and by then he hated Harry a bit. He hated everything. He hated Luna's mellowness and the room's inadequate privacy. He hated the frequent intrusions of "well-wishers," and every absent musing:

"Wow Harry, he looks like he's in a LOT of pain."

Yet Harry was keeping him calm, with soothing murmurs and strokes on Draco's sweat-beaded head. And their stupid game, and his patience, and his attempts to distract him, and to bond in spite of everything. Was theirs a good marriage? Did they work?

He must have said it aloud because Harry shrugged. "We love each other."

Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry's. "I'm being punished," he concluded. "You're too good for me."

Harry blinked. "Well this is a first."

"I—I'm supposed to tell you—"

"Draco, _breathe._ "

Draco tried to, his teeth clenched until the pain began to ebb again. He opened his eyes, and they must have gone silver, because Harry bit his lip.

"Draco...you need you to calm down."

Draco stared off, at the wall, though not really seeing it.

*

Draco's face had gone blank. He was staring at something. Harry tensed, stood, and spun around to face the new presence opposite him.

But no one was there. Not yet. Instead someone was materializing slowly, not apparating, but progressively coming into being under Draco's silver eyes and reeling magic.

"Stop," he admonished Draco helplessly. Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the developing figure. "Draco, stop it!" he said in panic.

A young man with gray eyes finally formed, his hair sleek and black, dark robes draped about him. He was very familiar, but Harry couldn't place where he knew him from. The young man had a bewildered look on his face.

But at seeing Harry, he seemed to calm. "You _did_ say this might happen."

Harry kept his wand steady on the stranger. "Who are you?"

"Oh just a friend. You know. From the future." He offered an insincere smile. His eyes snapped to Draco. "Oh. Are you okay?"

"Stay away from him!" Harry stammered.

But Harry was ignored as the stranger approached the bedside, idly drawing back blonde fringe from Draco's eyes. "Molly, huh?" the stranger said with sympathy. Harry felt a pulse of magic, and Draco's eyes closed, some of the tension disappearing from his brow. "She was always a brat."

"W-what are you doing to him?" said Harry.

"Just easing some of the pain."

Draco's eyes fluttered open again. He looked up and held the young man's gaze. "Sirius," he managed.

"No, Draco that's not—" Harry paused. Swallowed. "You have to send him back."

"It's okay," Sirius said. "I can go on my own."

"You—can?"

Sirius flashed a smile. "I'm a seer too." He turned back to Draco. "Feel better." And then he dematerialized just as fluidly as he had arrived. Harry remained frozen, his wand shaking in his grasp.

*

After Luna delivered their daughter, through a unique form of apparition, somehow Ginny Weasley was the first to hold the baby. Draco was not even sure how she had gotten back into the room. If Draco had had wand access would have killed her. Would have KILLED HER. Instead he watched languidly as the newborn was gently extricated by Harry, who quickly set her in Draco's arms.

Draco studied his daughter. It was rather anticlimactic, he thought. She looked squishy and flushed, and sort of like a small troll. She cried so shrilly, he thought his ears might bleed. And yet he held her until his vision blurred.

"She's gorgeous," Harry murmured. His combined mirth and amazement gave way to a shaky nervousness. "Are we going to talk about the um—Sirius?"

"Eventually," Draco lied ruefully. He knew he couldn't stay awake much longer.

His eyelids sunk, which was probably for the best, because he could hear others begin to shuffle into the room. He waited for Harry to lift the baby from his arms before finally allowing himself to doze off.

*

The baby was screaming her head off when he awoke.

Draco lifted his eyes to see his parents were in the room, his mother rocking the baby gently, offering soothing murmurs that yielded no result.

His father didn't look as outraged as Draco had anticipated. His reaction in fact, seemed rather mild, almost neutral.

In the chair beside the bed, Harry was asleep, his legs akimbo, arms crossed, and chin resting on his chest.

"Mother," Draco entreated, feeling pathetic and needy. He hated that he was still so vulnerable, and yet, for once, no one exploited it.

Mother approached and eased the baby down into his arms. He had held her before, but he was still flooded with relief. He stroked a finger against her fine blonde hair. Her deep newborn eyes were already turning green.

The baby screamed rudely at him for a while, and outstandingly, Harry did not even twitch. She trailed off into a confused noise, the equivalence of "wha?" were Draco to claim he could translate. And in lieu of more crying, she stared eerily, practically gawping, marveling at him as was her tendency. To that day, Draco could not figure out what she found so intriguing. All the same, she fell silent and perused him.

"She may recognize your heartbeat," Mother suggested.

Would it be too odd to suggest that she seemed to just recognize _him,_ as a whole? "Her name is Molly," he said with certainty.

His parents looked gobsmacked by the egregious declaration.

"Molly?" The name fell from Father's mouth in an undignified squawk.

"Don't do anything rash Draco, you're on a lot of potions," said Mother in hurried tones.

Draco ignored them. "I...wanted to name her for someone living," he heard himself say, which was odd, because he had never deliberated it prior to that moment. "Someone important in Harry's life. Molly Weasley—she treats Harry as a son. The Weasleys were his first real family—"

"It's a—lovely name," Mother reassured, albeit in a choked voice.

Father still looked as though he had been slapped in the face. He gripped his cane till his knuckles turned pallid, and he almost seemed tempted to hit Draco with it.

Draco noticed that Harry was up now, and studying him, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable.

"We'll leave you to rest," said Mother, and she dragged Father from the room.

Even as they left, Harry did not move. His eyes shined, but he averted them, coughed, and climbed to his feet. "Um…"

Draco grabbed his shirt and pulled him onto the bed, shifting carefully so not to antagonize their newborn. "Where's Teddy?"

"He was here earlier. You were sleeping. He's staying with Ron and Hermione for now."

Draco hummed. Harry leaned over to steal a peck on the mouth, but Draco prolonged it, indulging, biting Harry's bottom lip. "I love you," he murmured, pulling back to see that Harry had gone crimson. The sod.

"I love you," Harry countered shyly.

"And Potter."

"Yeah?"

"I don't change nappies." Draco handed off the baby.


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's Pensieve
> 
> Future-Draco and Future-Harry (from the original timeline) finally have a look at Molly's memories in hopes of figuring out what she had gotten up to while she was missing.

_The Boggart_

"I can't believe it took us this long to go into Molly's memories," said the twenty-six-year-old Future-Draco. He absently ran his fingers through his hair. He had cut it short again, and was still getting used to the sensation of having his nape exposed.

"Yes, well, we were a bit distracted." Future-Harry nodded to the dark-haired infant strapped to his chest in a baby sling. "Besides, it was hardly an emergency. Molly's back, she's been home for months, and she's _not_ going anywhere."

Future-Draco bit his lip in guilt. "Why would you take the baby into the pensieve?" he changed the subject as he shot Harry a reproving look.

"Mimsy's still on holiday." Future-Harry shrugged. "Besides, nothing here is real anyway." He lifted a bottle to Sirius's lips.

"You're doing it wrong—give me that!" Future-Draco grabbed for the bottle and the two began to struggle over it as the baby eyed them warily, looking somewhat alarmed.

"You're upsetting the baby!"

"Well, he's very judgemental," said Future-Draco as Sirius wailed indignantly.

Harry, Draco, and the baby paused as they were brought to the first scene of Molly's pensieve.

"Hogwarts?" said Future-Harry, looking around. Molly was walking through the castle, unsupervised, it would seem.

"This makes no sense. Someone would have noticed if she was at Hogwarts." Future-Draco watched as Molly entered what appeared to be a Slytherin dormitory. He could swear that it looked nearly identical to the way it had been when he was at school.

He noticed a figure sprawled on the floor, amorphous and contorting rapidly, never taking a definitive shape.

"It's a boggart," said Future-Harry.

Future-Draco's breath caught in his throat as the creature sprung up, hunched in a thick black cloak. It rounded on Molly, its back turned on them, making it impossible to see what lay beneath the sweeping clothes.

"Dad?" said Molly, her eyes wide. A hesitant smile crossed her face. "You're back! I _missed_ you!"

"Molly," a voice rasped from beneath the cloak. _Harry's_ voice, only it sounded very weak and breathless. "I was hit by a stray curse at work," the hunched figure trembled somewhat.

Future-Harry and Draco stared on in horror.

"Oh no…" said Future-Harry. He wanted to protect his daughter, but it was only a memory. It had already occurred.

"There's no cure," Boggart-Harry continued in a croak, still hidden from view. He staggered forward as Molly took a nervous step backwards.

Future-Draco's bottom lip quavered. _I'm still hormonal_ , he reasoned, even as he grabbed Future-Harry's hand. In a way, he felt that he was seeing what his _own_ boggart might be. The reality of Harry's perilous job was unavoidable for once.

"This is hard for me to say," Boggart-Harry continued wanly. "But I…I'm…purple now." The boggart dropped its hood, revealing a Harry Potter identical to the present spectator, only this one had bright purple skin.

"What!?" said Molly in terror.

"This is how I'm going to be from now on." Boggart-Harry shrugged. "Now give your dad a hug."

"No, stay away," Molly ran in circles screaming at the top of her lungs. Future-Harry and Draco stared blankly as the boggart chased after the five-year-old, its arms extended as it made pleas for acknowledgement.

Draco collected his jaw from the floor. "She hates the color purple." He cleared his throat and released his husband's hand. "Molly, darling, calm down!"

Future-Harry lightly shook himself out of his reverie. "This is ridiculous. How is this helpful at all?" He eyed Memory-Molly as she began to pelt books, quills, and the occasional letter-opener at the persistent boggart.

"I honestly just took whatever memories I could get from her." Future-Draco watched in morbid fascination as Boggart-Harry began to weep. "She's five. Did you think it would be anything but arbitrary?"

"Oh bugger." Future-Harry chewed his lip and pointed his wand at the boggart. _"Riddikulus!"_ But the spell simply seemed to be absorbed into the scene in a ripple of air currents. "How do we move onto the next memory?" He watched uncomfortably as the chase went on…and on.

"All we can do is wait…" As if on cue, Future-Draco's voice morphed, the world faded, and a new scene began to populate before their eyes.

_Muggle Brawl_

"Is that me and Hermione?" said Future-Harry in shock. They were now standing in a little-used Hogwarts corridor. "We look like teenagers."

"This makes no sense," said Future-Draco, his brows furrowed. "Unless Molly time travelled somehow?" The two exchanged stunned expressions.

In this scene, students were scurrying around in an apparent frenzy. A teenage Hermione was standing in the middle of the circle of students, her arms crossed, an unusually severe look on her face. Across from her was a teenage Harry, busily shuffling his feet and shadow-boxing.

Students whispered in excitement, the crowd growing rapidly.

"What's going on?" a pimply boy said.

"Potter and Granger are having a muggle-style brawl!"

"Fists no wands!"

"Oh wow, I've never seen one before!"

Cracking her knuckles, teen-Hermione advanced on teen-Harry. Immediately, fists were flying. Hermione had power, but Harry was _fast_! There was a short scuffle, and Hermione reeled back, clutching her swelling eye.

Future-Draco goggled the scene. Future-Harry reached down to cover the baby's eyes.

The two teenagers quickly resumed, Hermione now holding teen Harry away from her by the forehead as he feebly swiped, but his arms were too short. Hermione kicked him back then punched him squarely in the face. A small trickle of blood rolled down from teen-Harry's nostril.

In the crowd, Theodore Nott immediately started vomiting.

"Oh Merlin, this is barbaric!" cried Ernie Macmillan, horrified.

Teen-Harry kicked Hermione in her lady bits, causing her to collapse to her knees with a shriek of pain. Teen-Harry proceeded to dance around victoriously, still enthusiastically shadow-boxing, the squirmy git. He grabbed a chunk of Hermione's hair as the crowd shrilled.

Students were holding up handfuls of galleons, chanting for teen-Harry, or demanding for teen-Hermione to get up.

"Go aunt 'Mione!" Molly cheered, shaking her little fists from where she was wedged between some first-years.

"Potter, what the hell is this?" Future-Draco demanded.

Future-Harry turned crimson. "Erm...well, sometimes, er, back in school...you know that Hermione and I grew up in the muggle world, right? Sometimes we would get, uh, nostalgic."

"Nostalgic?" Future-Draco looked at Future-Harry as though he was insane. "Give me back my child." A new struggle began between the two adults as Sirius made admonishing babbles.

Meanwhile in the memory, teen-Harry was now writhing on the ground as teen-Hermione aggressively stomped on his left ankle, which had become a dark purple, and was bent at an odd angle.

"I give, I give!" teen-Harry screeched.

Hermione stopped, and the two teenagers exchanged intent looks. Hermione gave his ankle one more vicious stomp, causing teen-Harry to squeal in pain, before she darted off into the crowd. Moaning, teen-Harry crawled away by his elbows. They left behind several dozen young wizards and witches with looks of amazement on their faces and puddles of vomit at their feet.

_Truth Serum_

"Stop it!" Future-Harry clutched Sirius protectively, barely noticing as the background formed into a significantly less-chaotic scene. "He's fine. _I'm_ fine. I don't do that anymore. It was a _phase_ , alright?"

Future-Draco relinquished his efforts to detach Sirius from Harry's chest, instead giving his spouse a withering look. Harry knew full well that the conversation was not over.

Future-Harry gulped and joined his husband in watching as a teenaged-Draco walked along the castle corridors, glancing around, and looking paranoid. He was headed in the direction of the library.

"Wait! Wait up!" someone called, a short figure running up to the pureblood. "Draco is it?" said Colin Creevey, his blonde curls shaking about his head as though on their own.

"Draconis," teen-Draco notified, seeming to wince as he blurted the word out. His expression flickered between furtiveness and irritableness.

"Oh, hi Draconis." Colin looked mildly surprised by the formal introduction. "Look who I found." He turned slightly to brandish the grinning child attached to his back.

"That's Molly," teen-Draco deadpanned. Looking slightly fearful, he shuffled off.

Colin again caught up. "Wait—I wanted to show you the photo I took of you and Harry." He proudly held out several photos like playing cards. They were varying angles of the same moving image—Draco and Harry's first kiss, in the hospital wing. "What do you think?"

"They're arousing," teen-Draco responded automatically. An alarmed expression crossing his face, he walked faster.

Creevy blinked and reddened. "Er…great. Would you like copies?"

"Yes," said teen-Draco without hesitation. His eyes widened.

"Sure, I'll get right on that. These ones are for myself. You know. Work related. Hey, do you mind if I interview you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, great," Colin misunderstood, instead looking encouraged. "What are your career aspirations?"

"I want to stay home and have Potter's babies."

Unfortunately for teen-Draco, the words came out blunt and clear, and they were in the middle of the entrance hall. Draco's body froze. Everything froze. And everyone was staring. McGonagall gawped at him, looking purple. Snape had dropped a pile of books and seemed to be fighting the urge to retch.

Draco gave a belated, awkward chuckle, but it was uncharacteristic and odd. He trailed off into mortified silence. And then he fled. Colin pursued him.

Future-Harry and Future-Draco gawked at the scene. Future-Harry recovered and burst into hearty laughter.

"Shut up," said Future-Draco, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "I'm obviously under some sort of truth spell." He crossed his arms as Sirius cooed at him consolingly.

"What's Harry really like?" Colin ran to keep up with teen-Draco.

"He's super nice," said teen-Draco, his voice tinged with panic. "And handsome!" he added.

"Why are you running?" Colin gasped for breath.

"I'm looking for somewhere to hide." Teen-Draco disappeared around a corner.

Colin leaned down and grasped his knees, catching his breath for a moment, before frowning back at Molly.

"No—go faster!" Molly wrung his neck.

As they watched Colin fruitlessly try to detach the blonde child, Future-Draco flushed and avoided his husband's smug look.

"Well this was pointless," Future-Draco spat.

"So I'm super nice? And _handsome?_ " Future-Harry smirked.

"Shut up."

"Why didn't you tell me you just want to _stay home and have my babies?_ " Future-Harry snickered.

"That was before I saw your cock."

Future-Harry's face fell.

They eyed each other guardedly, beginning to circling each other like felines.

Sirius gave them both reproachful looks and Harry began to shadow-box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. This was a joy to write. Maybe someday I'll write another story. :)


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